The Lady and the Captain
by BroadwayBaggins
Summary: When Lady Mary Crawley unexpectedly tumbles into a Portal that sends her to the Enchanted Forest, she finds herself forced to team up with the most unlikely of allies: The notorious Captain Hook. Inspired by drabble prompts on tumblr.
1. Kick in the Head

_**Author's Note: Hello everyone! This is a series of drabbles I've been working on for a while now, all based off of prompts I have been sent…and all involving the unlikely team of Mary Crawley and Captain Hook. I've been posting them on tumblr as I write them, but I thought it would be nice to have them all in one place. Some will be longer than others, and I'm posting them in chronological order both of when they were written and (roughly) where they fall in to the timeline of the story. If you like what you read and would like to request a prompt, feel free to send me an ask on tumblr (I'm broadwaybaggins on there as well). Hope you enjoy!**_

_**Major major thanks/dedication goes to lala-kate, gazelle-legs, and miscreantrose for both enabling me and encouraging me to write these drabbles. You ladies rock!**_

_Bloody stubborn woman,_ he thinks as he watches the brunette stalk away from him, her dark eyes scanning her unfamiliar surroundings. _I need another one of those around like I need…a kick in the head._

The cliche, old-fashioned as it is, slips into his mind almost unbidden. He watches her and remembers hearing Liam utter the phrase before, and as he arches an eyebrow as the woman whirls towards him, he can't help but feel as if it describes the current situation perfectly. She glares icily at him as he allows his gaze to sweep over her figure, taking in her strange clothes, her narrowed eyes, the jut of her chin that tells him that she is determined to get to the bottom of this…whatever _this_ might be. A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. For a woman who, for all intents and purposes, has fallen from the sky, she seems to be taking things in stride.

That is, until she opens her mouth again.

"Where on earth are we?"

"Haven't I already explained that to you, love?" he asks, sauntering forward a few steps.

Her eyes narrow even more. By the gods, she is beautiful, even when she's looking at him like she wishes her gaze were enough to make him drop dead where he stands. "No, you have not," she says through gritted teeth.

"A thousand apologies, lass. You're in the Enchanted Forest. And I, as I've already told you, am Killian Jones—Captain Hook. At your service." He gives an exaggerated bow and grins when she rolls her eyes in exasperation.

"And _I_ already told _you_ that Captain Hook is a character in a story!" she cries out. "Has the entire world gone mad?"

He takes another step forward, clearly surprising her with his boldness. "I don't know, love," he says with a shrug. "You tell me."

Rich brown eyes meet stormy ocean blue, and for a moment Killian's breathing seems to still. Then is his eyes that are widening as the woman abruptly turns on her heel, walking away from him as fast as her peculiar shoes can take her.

"Hey, where are you going?" he calls out after her retreating figure, his brow knit together in confusion.

"To find someone who can actually help me!" is the shouted response.

He curses under his breath. This woman, clearly from some other realm and most definitely out of her element, is in no fit state to handle whatever dangers the forest might throw at her. She could be killed out there—and in the mood she's in, if she were to cross the wrong people…

_"_Seven hells," he mutters, glaring darkly down at his hook before quickly following after her.

Like a kick in the head indeed.


	2. Trouble Lurking

Killian swore again as he rushed after the woman, muttering darkly under his breath as he watched her retreating figure, clad in crimson that seemed to cling to her in places that dresses around here would never, make her way towards the forest. Gods alone knew what sort of things were lying in wait for her in there, and he'd be damned if he let something happen to her on his conscience. He had already been responsible for so much pain, so much death…_Liam, Milah._ He was not about to let this nameless woman join them, not if he had anything to say about it.

Unfortunately, the lady had other ideas.

"Stop following me!" she turned to shout at him, still glaring daggers as she whipped her head over her shoulder. Killian rolled his eyes.

"You may want to reconsider your words," he said smoothly, jogging to catch up with her as they neared the forest canopy. "Hear me out, milady." That phrase seemed to appease her anger somewhat in spite of herself, and he wondered how true the title was. She certainly held herself like a noblewoman, and the fabric and cut of her clothes was clearly fine. Had he stumbled upon some princess of a foreign realm? _Oh, just what I need…_

Using his hook (and trying not to smirk at the fact that her eyes widened as he did so) he gestured towards the darkened forest. "Of the two of us, I am the only one familiar with our surroundings. Trust me, you do not want to go walking into that forest alone. I'm doing you a favor."

He saw it, the faint twitch of her lips that could have been a smile or a snarl, it was hard to tell. "And what if I don't want your help?" she asked.

"Lass, just beyond those trees are all manner of dangers—bandits, wild beasts, and gods only know what else. If you'd like to risk it on your own, be my guest."

The woman—he supposed he would have to learn her name at some point, as it seemed he was cursed to remain by her side lest some horrible danger befall her on his watch—gazed at him haughtily for a moment before lifting her skirts just enough for him to see her shoes. With an exaggerated air, she took a pointed step forward, then another, as if daring him to follow.

He watched her a moment, almost impressed. "You're either a very tough lass…or a very foolish one," he remarked before following her yet again.

"I'm neither," she replied immediately. "I don't need your help. This forest doesn't seem too dangerous, anyway." They were just at the edge still, but already the leaves hid the sun from their view and the air seemed colder. She almost smiled. "Not dangerous at all."

Before Killian could respond, another voice cut through the trees, high and sing-song and enough to set the captain's entire form on edge. "Are you quite certain of that, dearie?"

Hook's gaze hardened, and when he spoke, his voice was a low growl as he reached for the sword at his belt. "The Dark One," he hissed.


	3. Foreign

"The Dark One?" the woman asks, her brows knit together in confusion, utterly oblivious to the trap that she has just unwittingly led them into. "What's the Dark One?"

Killian's eyes narrow as he scans the forest, and suddenly there he is standing before them, the unnatural, human embodiment of a crocodile that had killed the love of his life right before his eyes. The creature's golden eyes light up in glee as he sees him, and Killian feels his heart clench. The lady notices him and a strangled scream escapes her throat, her hand coming up to cover her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle the sound. Killian doesn't blame her.

"_I_ am the Dark One, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin almost sings, the sound enough to make the hair on the back of Hook's neck stand on end. "Rumpelstiltskin, at your service." He gives an exaggerated, theatrical bow, and the woman backs up a step, one hand still clutching her mouth in horror. Whatever realm she is from, Killian is certain she hasn't encountered anything like the Dark One before. His hand clenches around his sword hilt, ready to defend her if that monster has any ideas of harming her.

_Over my dead body._

Protect the lady, and perhaps get the chance to enact his revenge at the same time. Maybe today wasn't such a waste after all.

The imp takes a step towards her, and she flinches away—the first time Killian has seen her show genuine fear since he first saw her. "And who might you be?" Rumpelstiltskin asks, that musical lilt still in his voice. "You're a long way from home, aren't you, dearie? A stranger in a strange land…"

She raises her head, looking down at him with as much haughtiness as she can muster. "I…I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but you do," Rumpelstiltskin coos at her. "You're a very long ways away from home, aren't you? Far from home in a foreign land…maybe a land without magic?" His voice is as hesitant as it is mischevious, as if he's waiting for confirmation of what he already knows and yet not daring to hope, and Killian frowns.

The way the woman's eyes widen confirms his suspicions, and he sees a grin stretch across the Dark One's face, showing a flash of ruined teeth. "I thought so," he whispers, making a shiver crawl down Killian's spine. "What's your name, dearie?"

He takes another step towards her, hand outstretched, and suddenly it is not her that Killian sees but another brunette beauty in danger of the Dark One's wrath. A savage cry lodges itself in his throat and he reaches for his sword, ready to defend this woman the way he couldn't defend _her…_

"Not so fast!" Rumpelstiltskin crows, and with a wave of his hand Killian finds himself immobilized. The woman stares at him with wide, frightened eyes, unable to comprehend why the man who has been tormenting her is suddenly unable to move. Killian watches, helpless, as the Imp stretches his hand out to her again, hooking his index finger under her chin.

"I asked you for your name."

Her mask of bravado falls, and for a moment Killian sees her looking vulnerable and lost and so scared that it makes his already-hardened heart clench in his chest. "Lady Mary Crawley," she says softly, her tone subdued now but still with a hint of her usual haughty air.

_Mary._ It suits her, somehow.

"Mary," the Dark One repeats, another smile spreading across his face. "Poor little dear, all alone in this strange place…a place you don't understand. How would you like to go back?"

She is silent.

"Would you?"

A whisper. "Yes."

"I thought so. It just so happens that I can help you there…if we make a little deal."

_No._ The word is stuck just behind Killian's lips, begging to break through, but the spell is too strong. He is powerless, he is silent…he is screaming on the inside.

_Mary. Milah. Not again._

"What sort of a deal?" she asks carefully, backing away just a step. She is clever, Killian has to give her that. She knows better than to enter into a deal with the likes of him, no matter how badly she wants to go home.

"We have something in common. I, too, want to go to the Land Without Magic. To do that, though, I need a very particular item…one that you must find. Do that, and I'll send you home—_if_ you take me with you. What do you say to that, dearie?"

Her brown eyes flicker back to Killian's, and he tries to shake his head, but the spell still holds strong. He can only hope that his eyes are telling her what she needs to know—that its a trick, that the Imp cannot be trusted, that she's making a terrible mistake…

"What sort of thing do I need to find?" she asks, and Killians heart sinks.

The Dark One gives her his most sinister smile yet. "Beans," he says simply. "Magic beans."


	4. Night

This, he swears as he struggles to get a fire going, is the last time he ever gets involved with another stubborn brunette. Didn't he learn his lesson enough the last time?

It had all seemed to happen so quickly. Killian stood motionless as Mary made her deal with the Dark One, effectively sealing her fate before his eyes. She would journey to find his bloody magic bean, and he would send her home—with the added caveat of accompanying her on the journey. Why on earth the Dark One wanted to visit the Land Without Magic was anyone's guess, but Killian knew one thing for sure: he was not to be trusted, not with this woman and certainly not with anyone else. There was no backing out of a deal with Rumpelstiltskin, but Killian wasn't about to let her go traipsing off on this mad quest, in a strange land full of dangers she couldn't even fully comprehend, on her own. He was not about to let Mary turn into another Milah, or Liam. Not on his watch. He could not.

And so it was that he, too, consigned himself to this mad quest. Rumpelstiltskin had been nearly beside himself with glee, no doubt hoping that Killian would meet his own untimely end on the journey. He'd rattled off a list of instructions that Killian only half paid attention to. His focus had been mostly on Mary, the way she held her head high as the Dark One listed his demands, how she only showed her hesitation when he paused for breath. Then her calm mask would slip, and he would see her for what she truly was—a woman entirely out of her element, in a strange land far from home, who clearly had no idea who or what she was dealing with. Killian had no choice but to help her.

Maybe the pirate hadn't completely overshadowed the man of honor, after all.

Or maybe Killian was just getting too damn sentimental for his own good.

With a wave of his hand that had transformed Mary's clothes into something more suiting for a trek through the Enchanted Forest (_"Can't have you drawing the wrong kind of attention, can we, dearie?")_ and one final, grave warning to her not to break his deal, the Imp had vanished, leaving the two of them alone. Killian's eyes had skimmed over Mary's transformation—navy blue skirt and bodice under a cloak of dark gray—for only a moment before he'd gestured gruffly before him with his hook, indicating that they should get a move on. The majority of their journey had been spent in silence, with the occasional feeble protest from Mary that she could handle this on her own, which had been quickly shot down by him as they trudged along. Now, darkness was creeping across the horizon, and he'd found a clearing suitable for making camp for the night. He could feel Mary's eyes on him as he scraped his hook along the flints, trying in vain to get them to spark.

"I don't suppose that _Lady Mary Crawley_has any experience lighting a fire?" he drawled.

"I'm afraid not," she answered, shaking her head.

"I thought not," Killian said, returning to his work. A few more tries and several muffled curses later—one of which he swore brought the faintest hint of a smile to her lips—they had the start of a decent fire going. Killian reached into his satchel and pulled out the remains of a loaf of bread he'd bought the day before at a market, thankful that he hadn't eaten it all by himself already. "I'm afraid that's all there is," he said as he settled himself down on a fallen log near to where Mary sat perched as if the very ground around her might rear up and attack. Killian studied her curiously. Her posture was ramrod-straight, her every movement graceful, so different from the controlled chaos that had been Milah…

"It's all right," Mary said, taking the food and biting into it hungrily. "I appreciate you sharing it with me nonetheless."

"Well, I couldn't very well let you starve, after all. I might be a pirate, love, but I'm not completely heartless."

"I know."

Her words, spoken so softly he was almost sure he had imagined them, struck a chord with him that he did not expect. He turned away from her, stoking the fire with a stick. "Well," he said awkwardly, not sure why her oddly tender words had affected him so. "You'd best get some rest. We have a long journey ahead of us."

She nodded, but made no move to ready herself for sleep. Instead, she was staring at the sky above them, the stars relflecting back and illuminating her deep brown eyes. She looked utterly wonderstruck, and in spite of himself, Killian smiled.

"I don't think I've ever seen so many stars before," she said quietly. "Not even in Yorkshire." _Yorkshire._ That, then, must be the name of the land she hailed from. He made a mental note to remember it.

"It's amazing," she finished softly, sounding truly awed.

Killian smiled as he tilted his head back as well, gazing upon constellations that he had known by heart since the first time he had been taught to navigate a ship. "They look even more impressive at sea," he remarked. "Trust me on that, love. This is nothing."

"I'd like to see that."

"Well, perhaps I'll take you there someday." The words slipped from his mouth before he could catch them, and he watched her eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Perhaps," was all she said.

They remained there for a while, looking up at the stars overhead, befor Killian cleared his throat. "You really should get some sleep. We have a lot of terrain to cover tomorrow, and you'll need to keep up—this is, after all, _your_ quest." He smirked. "I'm merely along for the ride. And don't go worrying about your virtue, either. I can assure you that I can resist whatever temptation your presence may give me."

"I don't doubt it," she replied immediately. She was clever and quick, he had to give her that. Just maybe not clever enough to avoid walking into dangerous deals with the Dark One.

"Good night, milady," he said softly as he watched her recline back against the log, her cloak pulled around her for warmth. There was silence, and for a moment he wondered if she had actually fallen asleep, worn out by the events of the day already.

But then, she spoke.

"Good night…Captain."


	5. Playing the Melody

_**Author's Note: I couldn't resist using the song from Pirates of the Caribbean in this!**_

He can smell the sea in the air.

His and Mary's journey has taken them to a forest that hugs the coast, but it is not open water they seek but the mountains that lie beyond it. He feels a strange tugging in his chest, overwhelmed by the urge to just look at the marvelous sea, but the forest is too thick and their quest is too important to give up now. The siren call of the sea is strong, but he forces it to the side, at least for now. After they part ways—once Mary is safely returned to her native Yorkshire and he has made sure that the Dark One will _not_ be following her under any circumstances—then he can make his way back to his ship, and from there out into the blue, wherever his heart desires. The thought makes him smile, and he tries to ignore the little tug on his heart at the thought that if he's once more upon the _Jolly Roger,_ sailing the realms to his heart's content, then Mary will no longer be with him.

_She'll be home, Jones. She'll be where she belongs. Surely that should be good enough for you._

To take his mind off of it all, he begins to hum under his breath, absentmindedly at first and then slowly growing louder. He doesn't realize that she's noticed until he spies Mary eyeing him as they walk along. He knows the look in her eyes well enough by now to know that he's piqued her curiosity.

"Penny for your thoughts, love?" he asks as he uses his hook to move a low-hanging tree branch out of their path.

"That song," she saysimply, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "How does it go? I've not heard it before."

He smirks, his eyes sparkling playfully at her. "I'd imagine not, love. It's an old song of the sea. I can't imagine you've heard much of it in _Yorkshire."_

"Will you sing it to me?" Her voice is as eager as he's ever heard it, and he finds himself surprised by her enthusiasm. He quirks an eyebrow at her, considering, before he opens his mouth and begins to sing.

"_My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold,There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold."_

He can feel her eyes on him as he goes through the song, his soft voice and the sound of their footsteps the only sounds in the otherwise quiet forest. She studies him intently, but he keeps his eyes fixed ahead of him, almost afraid of seeing her reaction to his tune. When he comes to the final chorus, though, he is shocked to her her voice—pure and sweet in his ear—join him in the song.

"_My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold,There is nothing can console me…"_

His voice trails off.

"_But my jolly sailor bold,"_ Mary finishes for him.


	6. Confessions

He'd just _had_ to bring up Milah.

The Dark One, popping out of nowhere to check up on them as he always did, had let slip what had happened to Milah all those years ago on board the _Jolly Roger._ And thanks to Killian's own crushing guilt—still just as fresh, just as painful, all these years later as it had been on the day he'd watched the light fade from her eyes—and Mary's insatiable bloody curiosity, the whole bloody story had spilled out, every last detail of it, as he clutched the canteen in his hand, wishing for rum, wishing for anything to dull the pain that wasn't the clear, sweet water that Mary had collected for them that morning. His hands shook as he spoke, his eyes hooded and hidden from Mary's view. He didn't want her sympathy or her pity…or did he?

"It wasn't your fault," she says softly once he's finished his sad tale. Her voice is soft, but not overly sweet, as if she knows that he wouldn't want words of false hope or comfort. It was odd, how she, a stranger from a land realms away, could read him so easily already…odd and vaguely concerning. Hadn't he built up enough walls over the years to keep people out? How was Mary Crawley able to see through them jut like that.

"Rumpelstiltskin killed her, not you. You shouldn't blame yourself."

"I should have saved her," he says gruffly, taking another swig of water and wishing it were rum. "I should have been able to save her."

They both fall silent, the only sounds the whisperings of the forest and the crackling of the fire in front of them. Then, she speaks.

"I was…betrothed. To someone. In my land. In Yorkshire."

He barely glances at her, even though she's caught his interest. This is something he hadn't expected, but given her beauty, it doesn't surprise him that she was promised to someone back in her home. "Is that so?" he asks, giving a shrug.

She nods. "He was…_is_ a businessman. Self-made, new money. Everything that my family wouldn't necessarily approve of, but…there was a war and things were…different."

"They always are in wartime." It is the sailor in him that speaks, the naval lieutenant from long ago, not the pirate.

"I didn't love him. I never did. But I knew that he could provide well for me, that it would be a good life…and that it would keep me away from…someone else."

"Someone you did love?" he tries to keep the curiosity out of his voice.

She pauses, and then nods again, staring into the flames. "Yes. I…I did love him. I loved him very much."

Did. Loved. Past tense.

He swallows, reaching for the canteen again only to find it empty. His mouth is suddenly dry. "And…and now?"

Her silence seems to stretch on forever.

"We should get some sleep."


	7. Hold My Hand

It had all been a mistake.

He had been foolish. He had thought he'd known better. He _should_ have known better. But he'd tempted fate by bringing them too close to lands controlled by Regina, lands crawling with her Black Knights. He'd gotten too cocky, ridiculously cocky, and had decided that Mary could handle a quick trip into Regina's castle. After all, if they were being sent by Rumpelstiltskin on a quest that would most likely claim their lives before the end, at least Hook would be able to die a rich man.

He'd done it before, stealing from royalty. But he hadn't counted on the Evil Queen or her Knights to be this cunning. Now he sits on a fallen log in the forest next to Mary, trembling from head to foot and bleeding from a gash on her forehead that she won't let him touch, staring into space.

He doesn't have to ask to know that its not the forest floor she is seeing, but the lifeless face of the knight he'd been forced to kill in order to get them to safety.

She's been through a war, he knows, but not in the way that he has. This is no doubt the first time that she's watched a man die, and although he knows that he ought to wish she'd toughen up—the man he had been before meeting her certainly would have—but right now, all he can do is watch her and hate himself for putting her into this position. Lady Mary Crawley doesn't show her vulnerability easily, and right now she doesn't look like the highborn lady she is but like a little girl, scared and lost and so very far from home. He killed the man in order to save them…but right now, all Killian Jones wants is for someone to tell him how to save _her._

"I'm…I'm sorry," he said softly, glancing her way once again. Her tears have dried, but she's still shaking like a leaf, her cloak that the Dark One gave her pulled tight over her shoulders as if it can somehow protect her.

"Don't be," she whispers back, her voice steady but her tone unreadable. "You had to. I understand."

"Well, then I'm sorry you had to see it."

"Captain Jones," Mary says suddenly, her voice much stronger now. She always calls him that, by his title, never by his more colorful moniker or even Killian. Sometimes, he wishes that she would. "You saved my life back there. Stop apologizing for it."

_Lady Mary Crawley. You're a bloody wonder, you are._

"As you wish," he murmurs.

He reaches out for her, desperate to comfort her in some small way, and she stiffens. But when his one good hand closes over hers, soft and smooth and so, so pale compared to his tan, rough skin, she makes no move to pull away. Instead, she grips him tightly as her shock finally wears off, not letting go as the forest darkens around them.


	8. Rum

Somehow, after the death of the Queen's guard, it becomes easier.

It's as if the act of him saving her life, and her allowing him to see her vulnerable and scared in a way that he never had before, tore down another one of the barriers between them. Their conversation becomes easier now as they trek on. She tells him of her sisters, of moody Edith and selfless Sybil, tales of growing up on her family's massive estate. He can't bring himself to tell her about Liam, not yet, and so he sticks to the less-sordid tales of his piracy days. Killian quickly finds that it is the tales of Neverland that fascinate Mary the most—she wasn't kidding when she said that he and Pan were well-known in her world—and so that is what he tells her, stories of mermaids and Lost Boys and fairies named Tinkerbell, stories that light up her features in a way that, for whatever reason, delights him. The conversation makes the journey more bearable, even if they have to be more careful now that Regina is aware of their presence and, no doubt, out for retribution. Sometimes they even touch as they walk, his hand on the small of her back or taking her hand to lead her over a fallen log. It's almost comforting, whatever it is between them now.

But he has to keep reigning himself in, pulling himself back because no matter what he's feeling for Mary, he can't put her in any more danger than he already has. Killian will not allow her to become another Milah, not while he still has breath in his body. He knows better than to get too attached. He'll go with her, and protect Mary with his life if necessary—he's in too far already to do anything else. But he can't allow her to get too close, or vice versa. She has the man she loved in Yorkshire, whoever he is. And Killian…

Well, he knows better, that's all.

Which is why an unexpected detour to an inn was definitely _not_ part of his plans.

In retrospect, it isn't his fault that a storm suddenly appears out of nowhere, rain pouring down in sheets so thick that it soon becomes impossible to see. He grabs Mary's hand and runs, pulling her through the downpour, grinning in spite of himself as he hears her inexplicably begin to laugh. It's the most free he's heard her sound in some time, and he can't help the little thrill that seems to go through him. Lightning illuminates the sky above their heads and Mary shrieks in what might be fear or delight, and that's when Killian spots it off in the distance—smoke from a chimney, indicating warmth and shelter and—his stomach growls at the mere thought of it—the possibility of a hot meal. "Over there!" he calls, gesturing with his hook, but Mary's shouted response is drowned out by a rumble of thunder as they run.

They arrive at the little tavern some time later, utterly drenched but smiling, and manage to secure a meal and a room for the night for far less money than Killian had been anticipating. From the look on the inkeeper's face, Killian suspects the man is grateful to have customers at all. Mary disappears into their little rented room to dry off while Killian sits down at the closest table to wait for their food and drinks, trying not to think about what will happen come nightfall and they have to confront the fact that their meager accommodations almost certainly contain only one bed for the two of them.

_You've grown soft, Jones. You can sleep on the floor for one night. Gods know you've done worse in the past. It's a roof over your head for the first time since we began this mad venture. That's good enough._

He's pleasantly surprised to see that they have rum at the inn—not as good as the stuff his enchanted flask keeps him constantly supplied with, but good enough for the circumstances. He's happily sipping from a tankard when Mary reappears, still looking slightly damp and bedraggled but less like a drowned rat than she had before. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes lock onto Killian's with curiosity as she sits across from him, waiting for their dinner to be brought by the tavern maid that, to his own surprise, Killian has barely even glanced at.

"What have you got there?" Mary asks casually.

He grins at her, swirling the liquid in his cup. "Rum, of course," he drawls. "Only respectable drink for a pirate, milady."

"Oh, I hardly think it's respectable. I've seen you with it before." Her eyes are sparkling with mirth, and Killian grins at the return of her feisty nature. She's maddening sometimes, worse than Milah, but he finds he wouldn't have Mary Crawley any other way. "Can I try a taste?"

His eyes widen just a fraction. "Are you sure you can handle it, my lady?" he asks, only half-joking. "I think it's a bit stronger than you might be used to."

"You'd be surprised what I can handle," Mary retorts, not missing a beat. She holds out her hand expectantly. "Come on now, Captain. I don't ask you for much, do I?"

Killian snorts with laughter. "I beg to differ. You're the one who dragged me into this mad venture, or have you forgotten?"

"You volunteered."

He laughs again, conceding that point to her. "Aye, you've got me there. I'd say that earns a sip—but don't say I didn't warn you." With a smirk, he hands over the glass.

Mary takes it and gazes into the amber liquid, sniffing it experimentally before bringing it to her lips. Its sweet and cloying and burns a bit on the way down, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. She steals another sip and hands it back, catching the attention of the barmaid before Killian has time to even question her.

"I'll have what he's having."


	9. The Aftermath

His head hurts.

It's not the worst hangover he's ever had (he's not even sure if he can even _remember_the worst), but it's certainly not pleasant either. Killian blinks his eyes blearily, struggling to bring the world into focus around him. In spite of the pounding that seems to be originating somewhere behind his eyelids, he almost smiles, knowing that as bad as he's feeling right now, poor Mary must be feeling ten times worse. _Poor lass shouldn't have tried to keep up with me…she should have known better…_

There is movement to his left, and Killian's eyes fly open.

_Mary._

He's lying on the bed in that little rented room, atop the covers and facing the door. His arm is flung loosely over Mary's waist, and she's facing away from him, apparently peacefully sleeping although her face looks more tired and drawn than it usually is. Unlike him, she is buried so far beneath the covers that she reminds him of a cat, curled up and trying to sleep the day away. Killian recoils back from her, taking his hand away, and she lets out a tiny moan and hides her face beneath the blanket as the night before comes flooding back to him.

"What the hell did we do?" he whispers.

_Laughter. That tone in her voice, the one that he can never tell means that she's impressed by him or not. And rum. So much rum. _

_The feel of her hand in his, tracing over the scars and calluses that line his palm after all these years. The deep ache in his heart at the fact that he wished she could have known him before, back before Milah and the Dark One, back when he was still whole._

_The way her hair slips through his fingers like silk when he moves to tuck it behind her ear._

_The challenge in her eyes when he dared to insinuate that she couldn't handle her liquor._

_The smell of the drink on her breath as they leaned towards each other over the table, the other people in the inn all but forgotten. The way his gaze had dropped to her lips, full and begging to be kissed, how he didn't feel any guilt about it because she had been looking at his lips too. And then…_

_The way that they had both seemed to pull away at the same time, as if some sort of spell had been broken. The way Killian reached for his drink, cursing himself for breaking the rules he had set for himself, to keep them both from getting hurt. The way that Mary seemed first to blush, something Killian Jones had never in his life seen her do, then fold in on herself, then shut him out as she, too, took another drink. The way both of them danced around each other the rest of the night, never mentioning the kiss they had almost shared, even though he knew it must have been on her mind too._

_And then, finally, the way she had drifted off to sleep so quickly after he'd brought her back to their room. He'd sat beside her, stroking her hair absently as he watched sleep overtake her, never intending to fall asleep himself, telling himself he'd keep watch over her and sleep on the floor if need be…_

_The way the last thing he'd thought about as his eyes had drifted shut had been the thought of her lips on his._

"Killian Jones, you selfish bastard," he whispers.

Mary moans again, and before she has time to even move Killian is on his feet and headed towards the door. She hasn't seemed to notice his presence in her bed yet, and he intends to keep it that way. "Shhh," he says softly, hand resting on the doorknob. "Don't you move yet, love. I'll go get you some breakfast, something to make you feel better."

She reaches for the pillow and covers her head with it, and this time Killian does smile as she tries to shut out the morning light. "Impossible," she whines, her voice muffled.

"Don't you worry, milady. I have just the thing to get rid of that nasty headache you must have. Trust me."

A pause. Then "I do trust you, Killian."

_You do. I know you do, Mary. But sometimes I wish you didn't._

_I don't deserve it._

She pokes her head out from her sanctuary, and Killian manages a brief smile before slipping out of the room, his hand clenched in a fist as he tries to stop himself from doing what his instincts are screaming at him to do, march right back into that room and kiss her like she deserves.

He returns with a specially-ordered breakfast of his personal favorite hangover cure, and they eat in mostly silence. A few times Mary attempts to mention the events of last night, but each time one or the other stops the conversation from getting too far. He hates the tension between them, and he knows that Mary does too, but there's nothing he can do about it. Maybe it's better this way.

They gather their things and settle the bill, strangely eager to get back to their quest. Mary's eyes remain on Killian the whole time, and when she reaches for his hand, he bites his tongue and fights the urge to draw back away from her touch. She squeezes his hand as if to reassure him—about what, Killian isn't quite sure.

They don't notice the eyes watching them as they leave the inn, nor do they hear the impish cackle of laughter that is quickly swallowed up by the breeze as they walk away.


	10. Fireflies and Firsts

It's been several days since their almost-kiss at the inn, and Mary is acting strangely.

She's taciturn and far-away, so closed off that he's worried that their lapse in judgement in the tavern might be weighing as heavily on her own mind as it is his. From what he's gathered of her land, they have very strict rules for propriety there, particularly for a woman of her class—has he crossed some line that he didn't mean to while the alcohol was dictating his every move? Has he offended her in some way? Her sudden moodiness surprises him, and every time he attempts, in his own way, to reach out to her its like he can feel her drifting further away. Once, he swears he can see a tear glistening in the corner of her eye before she brushes it away as if it had never happened. He turns away, embarrassed to be caught watching her like this, and suddenly an idea strikes him.

"Come with me," he whispers as he takes her hand gently. She jumps at the contact and hesitates a bit, but follows him as he leads her off the path through the woods. "Come on, my lady," he repeats, his voice soft but with the faintest hint of a smile. "I know you can keep up with me. You've done it before."

"Where are you taking me?" she asks, her voice sounding small, far smaller than it usually does, and his heart clenches. This isn't his Mary, this sad creature…not his Mary at all. Gone is her confidence, her bravado, replaced with something that Killian is nearly afraid to name, for he knows what it is.

Guilt.

He's brought this on himself, he knows. Mary had told him of the man back in her land, hadn't she? He had known all along that her heart belonged to another. And he should have known better.

Still, he hopes his disappointment in himself doesn't show through on his face. "Just a little detour," he says briskly, pulling her along. She almost smiles as she trots to keep up with him. "I have something I'd like you to see. I know you haven't been…quite yourself these past few days, and I wanted to…cheer you up."

She doesn't respond, merely follows as he brings her to a small clearing in the forest. The moon is just starting to rise above their heads, and after a moment Killian lets go of Mary's hand, looking at her expectantly.

"It's nothing you've done," she says, not looking at him. It's as if she can read his thoughts, and he mentally kicks himself for being so obvious. "It's not that at all. It's just…I've been keeping count of the days since I arrived here, and if I'm counting correctly, then…today is my sister's birthday."

Immediately Killian's face softens, sympathy etched into his every feature. He knows the pain of losing a sibling, but he can't imagine how it must feel to know that they are alive and well, trapped in another realm that seems so far off that it might as well be impossible to get there. It strikes him that, despite the fact that this entire quest has been about sending Mary back home from the beginning, this is the first he's seen her looking truly homesick since he's met her. "I'm sorry," he whispers, trying to ignore the ache in his chest that accompanies the thought of her leaving. "That must be difficult."

She gives a harsh sort of chuckle. "More so than I thought it would be," she admits. "We were never close, even growing up. I'm afraid she finds me rather cold and heartless."

"I don't think you're cold," he remarks in response, trying to make his voice seem casual. "Headstrong and stubborn, yes, bloody maddening at times, too clever for your own good…but not cold."

She gives him a sad sort of smile and shakes her head. "You didn't know me back then."

"But I know you now."

The smile she gives is mysterious, some of that old sparkle fighting for dominance over the sadness in her eyes. "I suppose you do," she admits. She glances around the little clearing once more, which has darkened more since their arrival. "Now, Captain, are you going to tell me why you've brought me here?"

He laughs and stands beside her, slipping his hand into hers easily. "Just wait and see."

It begins slowly at first, one tiny flicker of light blinking on from a spot on the edge of the clearing. It is quickly joined by another, blinking merrily, until suddenly there are tiny beams of light appearing from all sides, illuminating them both—but nothing could compare to the way Mary's face lights up at the sight.

"Fireflies," she whispers.

He almost sighs with relief. Part of him had been worried that she would think him mad, or sentimental, or both for bringing her to see such a sight. But as the fireflies rise into the air, Mary's laughter rings throughout the clearing, and he knows it's all been worth it if she can just forget her grief for a few short moments. She takes a step forward like a delighted child, her free hand reaching out to catch one of the fireflies, but it darts away before she has the chance. Killian chuckles at her antics, but the look on her face as she turns back to him makes him stop short.

She's looking at him with eyes shining with something he cannot name, but it makes his heart beat faster anyway. "Thank you," she breathes. "It's…it's beautiful."

"I thought you might like it."

"Can we stay here forever?"

It's a ridiculous question, and they both know it. They have a quest to complete, not to mention a deal with the Dark One hanging over their heads and more likely than not Regina's knights still on their tale…and Mary has a family at home waiting for her. But he knows that isn't what she needs to hear right now, so he says the only thing he can think of.

"As you wish."

And then his lips are on hers and her arms come around his neck and everything else melts away. They are both hesitant at first, but soon his arm tightens around her waist to bring her closer and she sighs against his mouth. Her lips are soft and taste like the wild strawberries they'd found along the road earlier that day, and her hands tangling in his hair are making it impossible to ignore the feelings he's been trying to push away from the moment he met her.

They know they cannot stay in the clearing forever. They have a journey to complete, and a deal to fulfill. But for just this moment, to Killian Jones and Mary Crawley, they are the only two people in the world.


	11. Lake

_**This is less Mary/Hook, more Mary/Rumple interaction with a dash of Mary/Matthew. And I'm sorry if it gives you feels. It needed to be written!**_

* * *

After the fireflies had left them, Mary and Killian had stayed in the clearing, kissing softly and wishing that their time together would never end. It had been his idea to make camp, leading her gently by the hand back onto the forest path and wandering until they'd found a suitable spot. It was an out-of-the-way part of the forest, with a path leading to a small lake nearby. Killian falls asleep almost immediately, stretching out like a cat as his breathing becomes steady and even. Mary, on the other hand, is restless. She watches him sleep for a few minutes before getting up as quietly as she can, careful not to wake him as she crept down to the lake and sat down on a piece of driftwood on the shore. She watches the moonlight dance upon the waves for a few minutes, until she suddenly realizes that, without her noticing, her eyes have become too full of tears to see.

What was she _doing?_ She replayed the kiss over and over in her mind, the taste and feel of his lips on hers, so different from Matthew's. When she closes her eyes, it is Matthew's face she sees, the look on his face when he had proposed to her in the dining room all those years ago, the agony of his disappearance during the war, the joy she'd felt upon seeing him walk again for the first time after his injury. But Matthew is realms away, and she is still trapped, unable to get to him. More than that, Matthew has already chosen Lavinia.

Tears pour down Mary's cheeks as she sits there, clenching her hands together so tightly that she can feel her fingernails digging into her skin. Has Matthew and Lavinia's wedding already taken place without her? She has no idea of knowing how much time has passed for the friends and family she left behind. What if she made it back home to find that years had gone by while she'd remained unchanged in the Enchanted Forest? And…underneath all of this, the ache in her heart remains…the ache that tells her what she already knows to be true—she is no longer even sure that she wanted to leave Killian behind.

Her mind drifts back to him, his face replacing Matthew's in her mind. She thinks of the feel of her hand in his, his hook on the small of her back as they kissed. She thinks of how he'd risked so much for her already, saving her life from the Black Knights, volunteering to help her even with his hatred for Rumpelstiltskin. Killian Jones thought himself a heartless pirate, but he had more heart, more goodness, hidden inside him than perhaps anyone Mary had ever known.

_What am I going to do?_

She is crying in earnest now, one hand pressed to her mouth to stifle her sobs in order to avoid waking Killian. She can't bring him into this, not yet—not when she was already in too deep. But the sudden snapping of a twig snaps her back into the present, and she whirls around to see not Killian standing there, but…

"Rumpelstiltskin."

"In the flesh," he trills, eyeing her gleefully. "Why the tears, dearie?"

Mary quickly wipes the offending tears away, trying to compose herself. "What are you doing here."

"Just checking in," he replies breezily, coming to stand before her. "Making sure everything is going according to plans…" His eyes rove over her form, and Mary stiffens. "But it isn't, now, is it, dearie?"

She drops her gaze, but that doesn't faze him. "No, it isn't at all. Something has changed, hasn't it? Something has…"

He leans in close to her, and Mary bites the inside of her cheek, fighting every instinct within her that is telling her to recoil back away from his gaze and his touch. Those strange golden eyes search hers intently, and his breath is warm and sickly-sweet on her face as he whispers. "You're thinking about not going back." Mary bites her lip. "You're thinking you might want to stay. Here. With _him."_

Mary can not answer. But her silence speaks volumes.

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes narrow, and he leans back away from her for a moment as if suddenly disgusted with her. Tears burn her eyes as her gaze slides to the ground again, not sure whether she, too, should feel shame or disgust. How could she even be contemplating this? To leave behind her family forever…how could she be such a monster as to have even let this thought cross her mind? _How can I leave them all behind…but how can I leave _him?

Without warning, the Dark One lunges forward. Mary gasps as his hands clos around her throat, his claw-like grip like a vice she can not escape from. She chokes and pries feebly at his hands as he squeezes her tighter, venom in his eyes. "We had a deal!" he roars as her blood pounds in her ears. Mary can not move, can not breathe, can not do anything but stare in horror at the man who now seems hell-bent on killing her right then and there. "We had a deal!" he repeats, squeezing tighter until Mary feels she will pass out at any moment. The edges of her vision are starting to go black, and her fingernails scratch against Rumpelstiltskin's scaly hands, desperate for release. desperate for air…

"Please," she manages to choke out.

A wicked smile crosses over the Dark One's face, and Mary feels pure terror. He finally relinquishes his hold just enough to allow Mary to take a pitiful gulp of air, and then his hand leaves her throat and instead is on her face, holding her steady and keeping her eyes locked on him as he squeezes her jaw. "I see what's happening, dearie," he whispers dangerously. "And it's not going to work. We had a deal, you and I, and no one breaks a deal with me. Do you understand?"

Terrified, Mary nods. Her breath is still coming in shallow gasps, and her neck aches enough that she knows she's going to have bruises later from his touch..bruises that she will have to explain to Killian. "Good," he croons sweetly, and Mary almost shudders. "Now, dearie, let me tell you something. This is what's going to happen, all right? You are going to get back to your quest. You are going to find those magic beans, and you and I are going back to your land so I can search for my son." Mary's eyes widen. The Dark One has never before volunteered his motives for wanting to go to the Land Without Magic. She isn't sure whether the knowledge that he, too, is looking for someone he's lost makes her pity him or fear him more.

"And if not…" He giggles then, a sound that chills Mary to the bone. "Then I will _kill_ your pirate." He moves away from her then, nearly clapping his hands with glee. This iss Milah all over again, and he and Hook both know it…and that made everything so much more fun.

"No," Mary whispers as her blood runs cold. "No, no you can't—"

"The choice is yours, dearie."

And then he is gone, vanished in a puff of purple smoke, and the only sounds are that of Mary's tearful gasps for breath and the calming sound of the waves gently hitting the lakeshore.

_Not him. Not him, please._


	12. Nightmare

_**I don't even know. Please don't hate me. Here we go…**_

_She was cold._

_So cold._

_Her vision became blurry at the edges, the teacup slipping from her hand to fall to the floor. Instantly her mother was on her feet, her hand on Mary's shoulder, peering at her worriedly as her grandmother looked on. Mary tried to speak, but the words seemed impossible, slipping through her fingers before she could grab hold. Only one word fell from her lips, again and again as she sobbed and shook in her mother's arms…_

_"Matthew."_

_In the days that followed, Mary wandered the halls of Downton Abbey like a ghost. Wounded, the telegram had said. Badly wounded, but on his way. Every possible string had been pulled to get him sent to Downton for his recovery, but Mary was still having a hard time believing that it was true. The ache she had felt in her chest the day he'd been wounded was still all too real, as if every fiber of her being was being ripped apart. She had come so close to losing him, so close that she still woke up screaming in the night, begging for him to come back to her. Her family noticed but said nothing; Carlisle avoided the estate altogether, apparently not wanting to witness the happy reunion. He had already cornered her once since the news that Matthew was on his way, grasping her by the shoulders and asking her once and for all whether or not there was anything going on between herself and Matthew. Mary had been saved by the appearance of Anna on the stairs, fleeing from her fiancee's grip without giving him an answer. She had not spoken to him since._

_Matthew was unconscious when they carried him into the hospital on a stretcher, looking pale and thin and more dead than alive. She had never seen him like this, and she sat by his bedside and gently dabbed his forehead with a damp cloth, murmuring softly to him as she stroked his blonde hair back from his face. His eyes seemed sunken, his face marred with tiny cuts here and there that broke her heart. She barely heard the diagnosis as her father and Doctor Clarkson spoke outside the door. All she cared about was the man on the bed before her, so drastically different from the man she had seen board the train in his uniform…but still her Matthew._

_She thought she imagined it at first, the slight flutter of his eyes behind closed lids. Then, slowly, they opened to reveal blue that she had been so certain she would never see again, and her own eyes fill with tears._

_There are so many things she wishes to say to him—things that have been bottled up for so long, things she should have said ages ago. Things that, a short time ago, Mary had been certain she had lost the chance to say forever._

_She wishes she could say them—all of them, starting with the most important one of all. But its him she needs to be concerned about now, not herself. What comes out instead is,_

_"Are you feeling a bit less groggy?"_

_He almost smiles, but the motion seems to pain him. When he moves to sit up (apparently not recalling that he can't, and perhaps never will again) Mary stops him with a gentle hand on his chest, helping him settle back down onto the bed. He looks at her a moment, working dry lips to try to speak. "Where's—"_

_He never finishes his sentence. In the next moment Mary recoils in horror as a knife is plunged into Matthew's chest, cutting his words off with a sound that she swears will haunt her for the rest of her days. She leaps up, clamping her hands over her mouth to stifle the scream. There is a puff of smoke, and Rumpelstiltskin appears in front of her, his hand still on the knife that is protruding from Matthew's chest. "There you see, dearie!" he crows, his voice triumphant. "You see the price of your choice now?"_

_"NO!" Mary screams. "I didn't—I didn't choose this! I didn't! This wasn't my choice!"_

_The Dark One leans in to her, his face grave, his eyes piercing. "Isn't it?" he asks her, his voice eerily calm. "Look closer."_

_When Mary looks again, it is no longer Matthew lying lifeless in the bed._

_It is Killian._

Her scream is loud enough to hurt as it tears from her throat as she sits bolt upright, panting for breath. Her face is wet with tears and she shivers, pulling her cloak tight around her even as her body is soaked in sweat. There's a rustle nearby and suddenly Killian is beside her, shaken awake from her scream, his tired eyes and scratchy voice begging her to tell him what is wrong, but she can't. She can only see the blood staining the crisp white hospital sheets, hear the Dark One's bloodcurdling giggle and see the lifeless blue eyes…

_They both have blue eyes._

"Love, what is it? What's happened? Mary…" he sighs and curses under his breath, pulling her into his arms. She stiffens for a moment before curling into his embrace like a child, gasping for breath as he strokes her hair and tries to soothe her.

They stay like that for the rest of the night. But she does not tell him what horrible dream it was that woke her, and he does not ask.


	13. Speechless

_**(AKA, in which a familiar object from Beauty and the Beast makes an appearance. Also, I apologize for more angst in this one. I don't even know if I can really call this a drabble. Sorry that this probably wasn't what you wanted, but again, it needed to be written.)**_

* * *

Neither of them want to admit to it at first. Whenever they are confronted with evidence of it, they push it to the back of their mind, preferring to press forward in their quest and not allow the newfound fears creeping into their heads to bother them. But two days after their kiss and Mary's nightmare, that thing in the back of their minds becomes impossible to ignore.

They are being followed.

Mary isn't sure how or why, but several of Regina's Black Knights have been pursuing them. They could surely overtake them if they tried, but either they are waiting for something or simply gathering information to take back for their Queen. Both she and Killian are at a loss for why. Yes, Killian had managed to kill one of the guards before they'd made their escape, but surely that should not warrant the Black Knights following them? Regina must have other things on her mind than avenging one knight that was killed by two intruders weeks ago...

Still, their new shadows make them uneasy, and Killian reluctantly decided that it would be better if, for a while at least, they traveled only at night in order to ensure their safety. His hope was that they would lose the Black Knights sooner or later, that Regina's henchmen would grow bored of stalking their prey and return to report to her whatever it was she was so desperate to know. Mary agreed with Killian, albeit reluctantly, and so the two tried to settle into their new uneasy routine. They sleep during the day, waking at dusk in order to continue their journey under cover of darkness. Sometimes Mary hears Killian slip away, often returning with food he either foraged for in the forest or somehow bartered for at one of the houses that dot the forest, few and far between. It is difficult at first, but they soon grow used to it, turning to each other more than ever for comfort. It is not easy, but none of this has been, not from the beginning. Part of Mary knows that it never will be.

Still, she isn't expecting one night to wake up and see Rumpelstiltskin sitting cross-legged before them, watching expectantly. Mary gasps, stirring to life as she sits bolt upright, staring at him. She hasn't seen hide nor hair of the Dark One since the night he threatened Killian, and part of her is terrified that he has come to make good on his promise. _I need more time,_ she thinks frantically. _You have to give us more time!_

"Rise and shine, dearie!" he crows, startling Killian out of a sound sleep. He awakens with a shout as soon as he realizes there is an intruder in their camp and reaches for his sword, but with a wave of his hand Rumpelstiltskin sends it flying from his grip. It lands a few feet away as Killian stumbles to his feet, all but growling at the Dark One. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demands.

"Just checking in," Rumpelstiltskin trills, getting to his feet as well. Mary is too stunned to move for a moment, never taking her eyes off the creature for a second, not trusting what he might do. "I just came by to see if I could provide a little..extra motivation."

"And just how do you plan to do that?" Mary asks, her voice haughty.

His eyes sparkle with mirth and cunning. "I thought I might remind you just what it is that you're fighting for." Mary's brow furrows in confusion, and he chuckles to himself, drawing an object out of the folds of his cloak. "How would you like to see them?"

Mary's throat goes dry, and she is suddenly dizzy. "See who?" she asks, not even giving Killian a chance to protest before she answers.

Her eyes fall to the object in the Dark One's hands. It's a small hand mirror, elegantly carved and gilded in gold. A single rose is etched on the back of it, and although the glass seems weathered in places she can see her reflection shining back at her clearly. It is slightly shocking, the sight of her—dirt smudged here and there on her face, her hair a tangled braid. If her mother were to see her now, she'd surely faint.

_Mama…_

Rumpelstiltskin smiles, a sinister smile that tells Mary that he knows exactly what she is thinking. "Your family," he says matter-of-factly.

Her heart leaps, but she forces her face to remain calm, not wanting to fall for another one of his tricks. She gets to her feet somewhat shakily; Killian reaches for her as if to steady her but pauses, his hand outstretched, apparently rethinking his move. The Imp only looks delighted at this new turn of events. Mary takes a step forward and Rumpelstiltskin steps to the side. "You can do that?" she asks, her voice even and unreadable.

"Oh, yes, dearie. I certainly can. All you have to do is take it." He holds out the mirror, waiting for her to make the next move. "Would you like to?"

"Yes."

The word flies from her lips before she can even think, a knee-jerk reaction that steals the breath from her lungs. The urge to see her family after so long is so overwhelming that her hands shake as she takes the mirror from his grasp and holds it in her trembling hands. She can feel Killian's eyes on her but does not—cannot—turn around. She can't bear to see whether the look he is giving her is one of disappointment or hurt.

She stares down into the glass, but all she can see is her own reflection. "Why isn't it working?" she demands, her voice almost shrill. Beside her, Killian stiffens.

"Patience, dearie," the Dark One advises. His voice is almost gentle. Mary feels as if she knows why he's offering this to her, but she can't help herself all the same. "This mirror will show you anything you wish to see. Just think of your family, dearie…think of them and wait."

She bites her lip and looks down into the mirror again. For a moment, nothing happens. Mary can feel her hope slipping away by the second.

"Please," she whispers, so quiet she isn't even sure her companions can hear her. "Show me my family."

Nothing.

Then, before her eyes, her reflection begins to blur. It's slow at first, her image fading and rippling out like waves upon a pond. As she watches, her own face is replaced by another, one she recognizes even with the haggard appearance and new worry lines around the eyes. Her breath catches again, and the picture before her blurs as Mary's eyes fill with tears.

"Papa," she whispers.

He's standing by the fireplace, staring into the flickering flames below. Her mother is seated on the settee, her face pale and drawn as well, and looking a bit thinner than when Mary saw her last. She feels a pang of guilt at the realization that it is her who has done this to them, worrying about her disappearance transforming them into the image she now sees. Cora's hands are clasped tightly together in her lap, her lips a pale, thin line. Edith sits next to her, looking distressed as well, dark circles smudged under her eyes as if she has not been sleeping. That, more than anything, shocks Mary to her core. She had always thought that if anything were to happen to her, Edith would rejoice, or at least not even care…she must have been wrong.

She hears a rustling by her side, and in that instant Killian is right beside her, his breath warm on her neck as he too peers into the looking glass. Mary isn't sure at first if he can see what she sees, but she hears his breath catch just as she did and she knows that he can see them too. For some reason, this makes her feel worse. _I'm so sorry…_

"How do we know this isn't something you've conjured up?" Killian demands suddenly, his voice a dangerous growl. "How do we know this isn't a trick?"

Rumplestiltskin grins at him. "You don't," he explains, pointing to Mary. "But she does."

Mary does not move, continuing to stare down into the mirror's surface. Her heart seems to slow within her chest, her eyes filled with tears, her face expressionless. In the mirror, Sybil is nowhere to be seen, probably at the hospital drowning her sorrows in work. Mary's heart clenches at the realization, wishing there was some way to speak to them, some way to reach between worlds and let them know that she is all right…

There is a sound to Cora's left, and suddenly _he_ paces into view.

"_Matthew."_

Killian stiffens beside her once again, as if the sound of another man's name has hurt him in some way, but Mary cannot take her eyes away from the glass. Out of all of them, he looks the worst. His suit is rumpled as if it was pulled on quickly, and his hair stands on end rather like he has been pulling on it in agitation. The deep purple circles under his eyes are even more prominent than Edith's, and he paces like a caged animal, making Mary's heart hurt. "It doesn't make sense," he says to them. "How can a woman just _disappear _into thin air?"

Robert sighs heavily, and Mary gets the distinct feeling that they've discussed this before. He opens his mouth to speak, but Matthew cuts him off. "How can Carlisle be satisfied with that explanation? How can he want to call off the search?! Mary did not—she _could have not_ just walked off! She wouldn't just leave! She took none of her belongings with her, she told no one—she would have at least told Anna where she was going, for heaven's sake! How can that man believe that Mary did this of her own choosing?!"

"Matthew, please, sit down," Robert says wearily. "I don't know why Richard Carlisle believes that Mary does not want to be found, but he's convinced that a search will turn up nothing. Thankfully, he does not have the power to call it off, I do. Mary is still my daughter, and I will do everything in my power to assure that the proper measures are taken so that she is found. All right?"

"No, not all right!" Matthew protests. "Mary needs us. Surely there's more that we can be doing…"

"Matthew, dear, you're only getting yourself worked up," Cora cuts in. Her voice seems weak and weary as the rest of them, but she pastes on a smile for Matthew's sake. "Why don't you go and see Lavinia? Doctor Clarkson came to check on her this morning and said she was asking for you."

So Lavinia is ill. Mary wonders what else she has missed in her absence.

Matthew runs his fingers through his hair and shakes his head. "I'll go and see her later," he says absently, and Cora sighs.

"I know you miss her," she says softly. "We all do. But you can't work yourself to death trying to find her, Matthew…"

"Cora's right," Robert says. His voice is low and careful, as if he is speaking to a child or a skittish animal. "Let the police handle it, Matthew. It's their job."

Matthew shakes his head vehemently, his eyes shining with conviction. "No," he says simply. "I will not rest until she's safe and sound."

Before Mary can hear what her parents have to say to that, the image starts to blur once again. "No!" she cries out, watching in horror as the ripples distort Matthew's face before replacing it with her own, tearstained and pale. "No, no, come back!"

"That's it, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin says softly. "Now, you see what it is you're fighting to get home to?"

Mary cannot find the words to answer him. Beside her, Killian sits still as a stone, his eyes expressionless as he stares straight ahead.


	14. Breathless

He's staring at her.

Ever since they glimpsed the vision of Downton in the mirror (which now lies in Mary's satchel, Rumpelstiltskin having loaned it to her in order to provide a little extra motivation) Killian has been treating her differently, holding her at arms length as if he's already trying to distance himself from her before their inevitable goodbye. Mary knows this to be the case, for she's been doing the same with him. It isn't just the fact that seeing Matthew so clearly distraught over her disappearance had rattled her to her core, bringing feelings back up to the surface that she hadn't been sure she would ever feel again. It's Mary slowly pushing him away, casting aside her secret wishes to stay in this world that has captured her heart and soul much the same way she suspects Killian has, in order to keep him safe.

Rumpelstiltskin's threat is on her mind constantly, from morning til night. His words echo through her mind and her nightmare, of Matthew's lifeless body transforming into Killian's, is never far from her mind. Part of her wonders if the Dark One himself sent her that dream—ordinarily she would dismiss it as impossible, but Mary did not believe in impossible anymore. Her choice was clear, if there was ever a choice to begin with. Mary would do anything to keep Killian safe.

And that meant leaving him.

He catches her eye once again, and something seems to snap inside of Mary, that defense mechanism she had deployed so many times with Matthew rearing its ugly head once again. "What?" she demands, her voice harsh. "Why are you staring at me? What is it?"

His face darkens, and he looks away. "Nothing, lass."

"Doesn't look like nothing,' she huffs.

"Nothing to trouble you with, then."

She rolls her eyes. "I swear, Captain, you are _impossible_ sometimes."

"_I_ am impossible?" he asks as if in disbelief. "Oh, that's rich coming from you, love. _You_ are the one who dragged me on this bloody quest in the first place. I've risked my life for you dozens of times, I'm _willingly_ helping the man I swore revenge on centuries ago because of _you,_ and yet _I_ am impossible?"

They've stopped walking now, standing just inches apart as Mary glares up at him with her hands on her hips. He stares darkly down at her, his gaze not wavering from hers. "No one asked you to do those things," she says, even though it's not true, not entirely.

He gives a harsh chuckle. "Didn't they?" he asks without mirth.

"I certainly didn't."

"Damn it, you bloody stubborn woman…"

And then its his hands on her hips, his hands pulling her towards him as their lips meet. Unlike their first kiss, soft and tender in the light of the fireflies, this one is rougher, demanding, bruising. He growls low against her lips, prompting a gasp from Mary. Her hands come up as if to push him away, but instead she finds herself pulling him closer, one hand curling around his neck while his hand and hook traverse her back. The stubble of his jaw burns her skin slightly, so different from kissing Matthew. Killian tastes faintly of rum as his tongue seeks passage into her mouth, passage Mary readily gives as she kisses him back just as desperately, feeling like she's being dragged under by a tide that she cannot control. So much for keeping him at arm's length…

And then he was gone, pulling away from her swollen lips as quickly as he had found them. Mary stares at him, watching that haunted look come back into his eyes, that look she has come to know well in the past few weeks. "I'm sorry," he whispers raggedly, backing away from her as if her touch burns him. "I'm sorry…"

Mary is left helplessly watching his retreating figure, struggling to catch her breath as he leaves her.


	15. Lose Yourself

The next time a sudden summertime downpour finds them, there is no inn to provide them shelter.

Although they haven't spoken a word since Killian kissed her earlier, they join hands without a word, running through the forest as the sky opens up above their head, drenching them in an instant. Killian's fingers tighten instinctively against hers as lightning illuminates the darkened sky, as if he expects Rumpelstiltskin to suddenly show up and wrench Mary away from him. Mary, in turn, clutches the strap of her satchel with her free hand, terrified of it tumbling from her grasp and the magic mirror smashing to the ground. She cannot bear to let go of the last link she has to her own world…not yet, anyway.

She doesn't understand herself. One minute she wants to stay with Killian, to undertake a life of piracy as long as it means never having to leave his side, the next she's pushing him away in order to keep him safe and preparing to go home to Matthew. She makes bargains with herself, promising that if she does make it back home she will tell Matthew how she really feels…but how can she know what she feels, when the heart that she had so naively thought would always belong to him, even after he had married another, now resides in the hands of someone else?

She had chosen Richard Carlisle, in part, so she would never have to deal with love and heartbreak again. She had never expected Killian Jones would change all of that.

They finally find refuge in the hollow of a tree, worn by time enough to have a small cavern in the massive trunk. It's just big enough for two, and yet Mary still has to practically sit in his lap to fit. Still, it's better than staying out in the rain and getting soaked, and so she rests the satchel carefully on her lap and leans against him, listening to his breathing as they watch the raindrops fall just beyond their little sanctuary.

For a long time, no one speaks. Then his voice in her ear, gruff and quiet and full of emotion that Mary cannot name.

"I'm sorry, lass," he says softly.

But whereas before, those words were what ended their kiss, now they are what ignites one. Mary's hand cups Killian's cheek as their lips meet in what seems like an apology, for their fight and for Matthew and Milah and Rumpelstiltskin and everything else that they do not dare speak. Mary allows herself to be lost in Killian's kisses as the rain falls around them.


	16. What Once Was Mine

"Killian! No, no, Killian, stay with me…"

But his eyes are already falling closed, his breathing labored and uneven, his face paler than she had ever seen it…and it was her fault.

It wasn't the Black Knights, not this time. No, this time they had been set upon by cutthroat bandits, masks obscuring their faces. It had been Mary's mirror they had been after, apparently spotting her gazing at it, once again watching her family's lives unfold without her. She hadn't realized how valuable it was until suddenly there were arrows whizzing through the air, and a man had snatched her up and was holding a knife to her neck. The rest of it had happened so quickly, events and actions blurring before her—Killian slashing at her captor with his sword, the mirror slipping from Mary's grasp and her diving desperately to catch it before it hit the forest floor and shattered, Killian screaming at her to run once the mirror was safely back in her bag. And then, the arrow that had grazed his ribs as the bandits retreated, apparently not thinking their prize worthwhile after all…or else knowing that enough damage had already been done.

At first, Mary hadn't been able to see what the problem was—it was just a scratch, after all, a small gash that could easily be healed. She had once asked Sybil for a few lessons in rudimentary first aid after her sister had completed her nurses training (more to make Sybil feel at ease in her abilities than anything else, although she herself had been curious) and was sure that she could dress the wound at least long enough for them to seek real help. But instantly the gash had turned nasty, the skin around it a mottled purple as Killian's breathing began to grow more labored, sweat breaking out across his forehead. "Poison," he choked out. "The arrow…must've been poisoned."

_Dreamshade, _had been Mary's first thought. But no, Killian had been sent to Neverland to retrieve Dreamshade because it could only be found on that little mythical island. From what Killian had told her of the deadly plant, it wasted no time laying its victims to waste, so surely if it was Dreamshade he would already be dead. No, this poison had to be something else…but Mary still had to act quickly.

Now, she has somehow managed to half-carry, half-drag him to the stream nearby, fear and adrenaline putting new strength into her limbs. She has washed the wound as best she can, tried to stop the bleeding, but his strength still seems to ebb by the minute. She holds his face in her hands, lightly slapping and stroking his stubbled cheeks by turn, trying to keep him awake. "Come on, Killian, stay with me," she says, her voice rising frantically. "Stay awake, stay with me…"

He coughs feebly, his parched lips moving as if to speak. "What is it?" Mary asks, her heart in her throat. "What is it, darling, just tell me…"

"The…flowers," he whispers, his voice so faint she can barely hear it. "They could help…they say…healing properties…"

"Which flowers?" Mary asks. "Killian, which flowers?"

"You can do this, Mary."

"No I can't!" she protests, but he's already gone, consciousness leaving him as his breaths slow even more. Mary scrambles to her feet, gathering as many pale blue blossoms from along the streambed as she can carry before running back to his side. Unsure of quite what to do, she crushes a few of the delicate petals between her fingers, creating a paste that she smears gently onto the wound. She holds her breath, waiting, watching…

He suddenly gasps for breath, coughing, trying to expel the poison from his lungs. "More," he instructs, and Mary obeys, until the bleeding is stopped and the sickly color is gone from his skin. Her heart still races, but the color is returning to Killian's face, and he offers her a shaky smile.

"That's my girl."


	17. Mirror, Mirror

_**Author's Note: This isn't based on any prompt, but it's important to the story and so it needs to be here. Hope you like!**_

* * *

They're getting closer.

With every day, every step, it's as if Mary can feel the pull of the magic beans she's meant to be seeking. Or perhaps—if what Killian told her of the beans is true, how there are so few left in the world that the Dark One might as well have sent them on an impossible quest—maybe it's her own will to prove him wrong, to find the beans and keep Killian safe, that's keeping her going. All Mary knows is that with every day that passes, something else grows stronger as well—Mary's compulsion to look into the magic mirror once again. She's barely touched it since Rumpelstiltskin gave it to her, but now, with the embers of their fire dying down and Killian asleep beside her, she can't help but take it from her satchel, running her fingers along the glass and the elaborately carved handle. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall…" she murmurs, almost smiling. As a child, she'd loved the story of Snow White…but that was before she knew it was all real. Before she'd very nearly been killed by the very Evil Queen she'd read about as a girl.

She gazes down into the mirror once more, before bringing it closer and whispering into the glass. "Show me home."

As before, her reflection fades away, replaced with a pale figure looking weak and helpless on a bed. Mary realizes that it is Lavinia, sleeping fitfully. Her heart suddenly aches. She hadn't realized Lavinia was this ill…

"It's not looking good," a familiar voice says, and Mary recognizes Doctor Clarkson talking with Sybil and her father by the door. Sybil is dressed in her full uniform, and her father looks exhausted. "Lady Grantham appears to be out of the woods for the time being—the worst is over for her. But Miss Swire…"

_Mama was sick too? Oh, God, I had no idea…_

"If she survives the night, there may still be hope for her," the doctor is saying. "But if she continues to worsen…"

"Matthew."

At first, Mary thinks that she imagines the voice on the bed. But when Sybil turns around, she sees that Lavinia is struggling to sit up, her dry lips repeating the name over and over. "Where's Matthew?"

Sybil retreats to her patient's side, taking Lavinia's hand gently in her own. "He'll be back to see you soon," she promises, her voice soothing and gentle. "He just went to speak to the constable about Mary. He's right downstairs. You'll be able to see him in a moment…"

Lavinia's cracked lips curl upwards in a smile, and she closes her eyes. Although Mary hates herself for it, for being able to do so easily what Lavinia cannot, she finds herself speaking to the mirror again. "Matthew. Show me Matthew."

The scene changes, as if she's watching a film. Matthew is in the library, looking even more distressed than when she saw him last. He's shaking hands with two uniformed police officers, who look as if they're on their way out. Mary hears him thank them, and they promise to notify him if they come across any new information on her whereabouts. Once again, Mary's heart clenches, hating that she's caused her family this much pain. Matthew sighs as they leave, burying his face in his hands for a moment before turning and preparing to pour himself a glass of brandy. He looks as if he needs it.

"Sir Richard Carlisle to see you, Mr. Crawley," says a voice, and Mary feels tears spring to her eyes as Mrs. Hughes appears in the doorway. Even she looks haggard, and she hates herself for not even considering how this must also be affecting those he cares about downstairs. She wonders where Carson's gotten to, or one of the footmen, why Mrs. Hughes is announcing callers. Has all of Downton turned upside down in her absence?

"Sorry to call on you so late," Carlisle says, breezing into the room. Mrs. Hughes shuts the door behind him.

"What are you doing here?" Matthew asks, his voice already weary.

"I came to see if you lot had done the sensible thing and called the search off, but apparently I was once again wrong. I ran into the constable on the way in. I must say I'm a bit disappointed."

"What are you talking about?" Matthew asks, his weary face contorting into confusion.

"Don't be so naïve, Crawley," Carlisle hisses, his voice condescending. "It's quite obvious to everyone but you and the rest of the occupants of this house what's happened. This search is a waste of everyone's valuable time, especially mine. The whole thing is nothing more than a circus act—and a completely unnecessary one at that. Mary's obviously run away with someone."

Matthew's mouth drops open, and as she watches, Mary feels herself bristle with hate for Richard Carlisle. The fact that she had ever promised to marry him suddenly disgusts her, her eyes burning as she stares down into the mirror's surface. "How dare you?" Matthew growls, his voice low and dangerous.

"How dare I? How dare you insist on keeping up this ridiculous charade of a search? Mary's been gone for over a month now with no trace of her. She obviously does not want to be found. You should be as angry as I am, Crawley. She's made fools of us both, you know. All this time I thought she was pining after you, it turns out there must have been some other man who she loved more than she ever loved either of us…"

"I never loved you," Mary whispers into the glass. For a second she sees Carlisle hesitate, as if he can hear her, and then it is gone as quickly as it appeared.

"I know it's difficult to accept," Carlisle was saying now, "But you have to face the truth sooner or later."

"You're wrong."

Carlisle sneers. "You're as mad as the rest of them, insisting that she met with some foul play. Listen, Crawley, the sooner everyone in this household stops pretending that Mary did anything besides bring disgrace and ruin upon this family—"

His words are cut off as Matthew's fist collides with his jaw, sending him reeling backwards. Mary gasps, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she watches Carlisle, dazed, rights himself and sends a punch flying in Matthew's direction. It just grazes his eye, but Mary can tell from the grunt of pain that it hurt nonetheless. Matthew sends another punch flying before his arms come around the other man's waist, sending them both tumbling to the floor in an ill-thought-out rugby tackle. Mary can only watch, horrified, as they fight over her…

"What is going on here?!"

Mary almost cries with relief at the sound of Sybil's familiar voice. Branson, for whatever reason, is with her, and he rushes into the fray, grabbing Matthew by the shoulders and pulling him off of Carlisle. The other man is bleeding from the nose, and Matthew's knuckles are bloody and he will no doubt be sporting a black eye by the end of the evening.

Sybil's voice is icy as she looks at her sister's fiancée. "I think it's best that you leave now, Sir Richard," she says, her tone even and calm, and not to be questioned. He looks from her to Tom, standing behind her as if ready for another fight, to Matthew who is clutching his bleeding hand, to the Dowager Countess, standing in the doorway watching the proceedings. Finally, he manages a stiff nod, apparently deciding that it's not worth an argument. Mary almost smiles, proud of her little sister for handling this all so well.

"I believe you're right," Carlisle says gruffly. "I hope the search…well, I hope it turns out _something._" The scorn in his voice is evident, and Sybil's eyes narrow. Carlisle looks up and seems to register the Dowager's presence for the first time. "I'm leaving, Lady Grantham. I doubt our paths will cross again."

Violet's scrutinizing eye looks him up and down. "Do you promise?" she asks, undisguised hope in her voice. If Mary didn't feel so torn up and helpless inside, she might have laughed.


	18. The Jolly Roger

Gone.

The magic beans are gone.

The evidence of them is clear as day-rotting, shriveled beanstalks, picked clean long ago, leaving nothing behind to get Mary back home-and to keep up her end of the bargain with the Dark One. Mary feels her heart sinking with every passing moment as she and Killian wander the deserted field, kicking at withered beanstalks and searching feebly for even the tiniest bean in the hopes that it might be enough to offer up to the Dark One...

"They're gone," Mary whispers. "All of them…they're…"

"I'm sorry, love," Killian says softly in reply, sounding defeated. Something prickles at the back of Mary's neck-it almost seems as if he knew this was going to happen.

Suddenly it's too much for her, the stench of decay and her own growing despair. All of this to try to get home, to try to keep Killian safe, and she had failed anyway. Mary sees dark spots swarming before her vision and she sways on her feet, barely hearing Killian's startled cry of "Mary!" before everything around her fades to black.

The next thing she knows, she's leaning up against Killian, her cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders and a fire crackling in front of her. She tries to ignore the sensation of his arms around her, tries to push back the feelings she is finding harder and harder to ignore, but she _has_ to ignore them, because Rumpelstiltskin will kill them both if she's not careful and it's _too dangerous-_

"There's nothing to be done," she says briskly, trying to stand up, but his arms hold her tight and keep her anchored to his side. "We have to keep going. Or else we have to turn around...try to find them somewhere else on our own..."

"There is another way, love."

Her eyes widen, some of her usual steeliness seeping back into her gaze. "One that you didn't mention until now?"

"I wanted to make sure that we had no other options first. I didn't know if you'd like the idea."

"And what is it?"

He looks uncomfortable, reaching up to scratch behind his ear in that way that Mary somehow seems to find both irritating and utterly endearing. "It's been said that the Evil Queen has many items hidden away in her vault."

He can't be serious. "You want to go back to that woman's castle." Her voice is flat, resigned.

"It may be the only way, love." Blue eyes pierce her own. "You have to trust me."

"I do trust you."

"It's settled, then. We leave at dawn for Regina's castle." He gazes at her another long moment, biting his lip (Mary tries to squash the impulse to reach over and cover his mouth with hers) before leaning down to brush the softest of kisses across her forehead. The touch is so faint she might as well have imagined it, and yet it lights a fire beneath her skin all the same. She wants more, she _needs_ more, even though she knows that this cannot last, that in order to keep her end of the deal she will have to return home and leave this land of magic, leave _Killian,_ behind...

_Damned if I do, damned if I don't._

And yet...

"How do you propose getting back to the Evil Queen's castle?" she demands suddenly. The idea of walking back into the place where she nearly lost her life the last time isn't exactly appealing, and neither is journeying miles on foot to get there. "It took us months to make it here. You can't expect us to turn around and go back."

A grin flickers across his face. "No, love. I have another venture in mind. But it'll take us a few days to get there."

She follows his gaze to the east, where she now knows lies the sea somewhere beyond the trees. "Your ship," she whispers, realization dawning. "We're going to take your ship?"

"Aye, love. We're going to find the Jolly Roger."


	19. Understanding

Mary's feet ache, but she does not dare complain about them. Killian has been leading her on a grueling trek since the decision to take the Jolly Roger and attempt to infiltrate Regina's castle, and Mary knows that there is no time to waste. She has lost count of the number of times she's stumbled, exhaustion threatening to take over, and Killian has caught her, pulling her by his side and supporting her until she felt strong enough to walk on her own again. They are both weary, but Killian has promised that they can rest once they locate his ship…although Mary has begun to wonder just how feasible this new venture of theirs is. Is Killian's plan truly to walk along the coast until, by chance, they happen upon the Jolly? Although they have not seen hide nor hair of Rumpelstiltskin for days, it seems like the Dark One is watching over them constantly, a lingering reminder of promises that must be kept…no matter what the cost.

"Killian," Mary says, her voice gentle, "are you sure—"

"She'll be here," he insists, his tone more gruff than she has heard him in a while. "The ship is magic, lass. She has a mind of her own. Made of enchanted wood. I myself don't even know all that she's capable of. But she's never let me down before, and she won't let you down either, love. Of that I am sure."

His voice is so tender as he speaks of the ship that Mary's pace slows, and she studies him for a moment. Her heart aches in a way that she cannot quite name. Killian Jones is a man who has lost so much—his brother, his position, the woman he loved. But through it all, one thing has remained: The Jolly Roger. He's as desperate as she is to find it…but until now Mary never stopped to consider that his reasons might be different than hers.

They walk several more hours, and dusk is falling by the time Killian suddenly stops in his tracks. Mary smacks into him from behind and stumbles, but his rough hand is in hers in an instant, helping her up and squeezing tight. They have left the woods behind now, a dark horizon of trees and secrets behind them, and now Mary's nose is full of the briny scent of saltwater. "There," Killian says, pointing. "There she is."

The Jolly Roger is anchored not too far off shore, and a small rowboat waits at the shoreline to take them aboard. "I told you she'd come through for us," Killian whispers, and Mary swears that his voice is choked with tears. "We found her."

"She found us, looks more like," Mary says. On impulse, she leans up and kisses his cheek, his rough stubble scratching at her chapped lips. "Is your crew on board?"

He shakes his head. "No, they won't be. But the two of us can sail her. I've made do with less before, and you're a sharp learner, love. We'll be fine."

"Well, then there's no time to waste."

But Mary makes no move to leave yet. The look on Killian's face stops her. She watches as he takes in the sight of his ship, his blue eyes wide with what might be love, or awe. "Did you ever think you'd see her again?" she asks him quietly.

"I don't know what I thought, love."

He needs another moment, Mary knows. She squeezes his hand once again. "It's all right," she reassures him. "I…I know what it's like to lose one's home."


	20. Full Disclosure

She had thought it would be jarring at first, transitioning from weeks of traveling on foot to the unpredictable waters of the sea, but Mary finds the gentle rocking of the Jolly Roger almost comforting. Killian had wasted no time helping her get acquainted with the vessel, assuring her that they would be able to sail her just fine with just the two of them. Even now, sitting on a small bed belowdecks clad in a new dress she found in a trunk—a crimson bodice with brown skirts that was slightly shabby but still felt delightful after the now-ragged dress Rumpelstiltskin had first given her—Mary can still feel Killian standing behind her, his hands braced above hers on the rope as they worked together to hoist the magical sails. The full impact of where she is right now, sitting calmly on board Captain Hook's pirate ship, hasn't quite sunk in yet. If only Mary's younger self could see her now.

"_Just like that, love,"_ _he'd said as her trembling arms helped him heave the rope, craning her neck to watch their handiwork as the sailed soared above them. "Easy now, be gentle with her…There we go." He had tied off the rope securely and taken a step back, hand and hook lightly grazing Mary's arms and sending tingles through her that she instantly cursed, because didn't her body understand that she couldn't feel these things anymore? She was endangering them both by this, it wasn't worth it, none of this was worth it…_

"_Come on, Mary," he'd said, his voice low, and Mary couldn't help but feel as if he, too, might be thinking something he shouldn't. "I'll show you to your quarters…and hopefully find something for you to wear…"_

The room he's given her is not far from his own, from what she's gathered, and she's taken care of the problem of new clothes with her own snooping. She runs her hands over the fabric of her skirts, remembering the fine dresses she used to wear back home as if they were no more than a dream. Some days it feels like they are.

There is a light rap at the door, and she stands, smoothing her skirts and placing her hands behind her back as the door swings open. "Love, I…"

Suddenly Killian stops short. He's staring at her, his face ashen as if he's seen a ghost. Mary can recognize this look now, the look that means that Killian's walls that he's spent years—centuries, even, _God,_ there's so much about him that she cannot even begin to understand—building up returning once again to push her away. She knows this look well, because she knows that her face is capable of making the same expression. She is the cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley, an expert at pushing people away when things begin to get too serious, too emotional, too _real_ for her. Isn't that what she's been doing these past few weeks to him? Pushing him away not just because she doesn't want him to be a target for Rumpelstiltskin's violence, but to make it less painful for the both of them when she has to leave him?

_Will it really be less painful, though?_ These days every time she looks at him it feels as if a piece of her heart is being chipped away, cursed to stay behind forever in the Enchanted Forest, to remain with him. She is already miles away from the girl she was when she first arrived here, can feel the person she once was drifting away more and more each day—and she finds she doesn't miss the old Mary as much as she thought she would. But if this keeps up…what kind of person will she be when she returns home?

_If_ she returns home.

"Killian?" she asks, her voice a low murmur. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, love."

"You're a terrible liar."

"Only in your presence, it seems." His voice is defensive, and for some reason that startles her. "I couldn't have made it this far as a pirate if I was a terrible liar."

"Perhaps you just had luck on your side, then." She almost smiles, the gesture biting at the corners of her lips. She's missed this, the endless back-and-forth between them, but there's a somber air of something unspoken lingering between them. He is matching her banter wit for wit, as he always does, but that hollow look is still in his ocean blue eyes, and she can tell that his heart is not in it the way it once was. She pushes past it, still trying to get him to open up, even though her heart tells her that it is futile. "Regardless, we've established that you can't lie to me, Killian Jones. Might as well tell me whatever is on your mind now."

His gaze drops from her face, and he moves as if to turn away. "Nothing to trouble you with, love. In any case, I didn't come here to talk about my troubles."

"Oh? Then to what do I owe the pleasure?" She hates how flippant her voice sounds, as if she doesn't care, as if everything she's done since that night at the lake hasn't been about keeping him safe…as if he hasn't spent the last month making her feel things she never thought were possible for her, not again…

"I came to invite you to dinner."

It's not the answer that she was expecting, not by far. "Dinner?"

"Aye. We dine in the captain's quarters this evening. You've foraged in the wilderness long enough, I believe. The Jolly's food stores might not be quite what you're used to in your own realm, but they far surpass anything that can be found in the forest, I assure you. I… I look forward to you joining me."

It wasn't the truth, but Mary has never been one to turn down a dinner invitation before. Perhaps she can coax the real truth out of him later…

"I look forward to that as well," she says as he turns to go. "I…I would be happy to join you for dinner, Captain." Mary isn't quite sure where this new formality has come from—she hasn't had much need of it in the Enchanted Forest so far—but she goes along with it anyway. It's what she knows, after all, and ever since she tumbled through that godforsaken portal she has been in uncharted territory.

"But…" she says before he leaves her, trying one last time. She's in uncharted waters anyway, so what harm can there be in submerging herself entirely? "I still wish you'd tell me what's troubling you."

She watches as he lingers in the doorway, the curve of his hook resting gently on the wooden doorframe.

"That dress," he says finally, his tone unreadable. "It belonged to Milah."

And then he is gone, and she is alone once again, standing numb in a dead woman's dress. She should have known, she supposes now. She always should have known.

_Damn it all, Mary._


	21. Faith and Trust

_"_No, Mary."

"But I want to see it!"

"Not a chance, love."

"It's my mirror. I can look if I want to."

"Lass…" Killian gives an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. "I've already told you, it's not the Neverland you know from your stories. It's much, much darker than that. It's a living nightmare, ruled over by the most ruthless villain I've ever had the misfortune of facing…"

Mary arches an eyebrow. "Worse than the Dark One?" she asks pointedly.

Killian seems to pale. "Perhaps that was a rather strong comparison. I'd say they're rather evenly matched, actually. But Pan is cunning, crafty—"

"As is Rumpelstiltskin. If I can handle that, I think I can handle a glimpse through a magic mirror at the land I've read about."

He huffs another sigh. "Fine. If you wish. But I cannot promise it will be a pretty picture."

"I have more bravery than you give me credit for, Killian," Mary says softly before turning to the mirror in her lap. "Show me Neverland," she instructs.

The scene unfolds as it always does, with her own image rippling and fading until the new picture takes its place. She bites her lip and frowns as a darkened landscape takes shape before her eyes, all wild jungle and flickering torches and the shouts of boys she cannot see. So far, it is not entirely unlike the Neverland she used to picture in her mind, the scenes she had witnessed when her father had taken her and her sisters into London to see J.M Barrie's work upon the stage. It is darker than she had expected, but other than that, she does not see the hellish world Killian has described to her so many times.

"The Lost Boys," Killian explains when they hear another raucous whoop. "Worship Pan like he's some sort of god. Trust me, he's a bloody demon."

There is a rustling, and a face appears in the mirror's glass. Mary leans forward eagerly, half-hoping to catch a glimpse for herself of the boy who would never grow old, but the sight that greets her instead is even more exciting.

Blonde hair swept up into a bun. A fiercely determined yet playful expression. An air of magic and mystery that Mary can feel even through the mirror's glass.

"Ah," Killian comments. "The Lady Bell."

Mary's eyes fill with excited tears. Suddenly she is a little girl again, perched on the edge of her theatre seat, watching a little light flicker back to life on the stage,

"I do believe in fairies," she whispers now, touching the mirror's cold surface. "I do. _I do."_


	22. I Need You

_**Author's Note Just to warn you in advance, this chapter is rated M. I'd like to thank the wonderful, ineffable, delightful beyond words miscreantrose and lala-kate, for holding my hand and offering encouragement and tips for writing this scene. Thank you so much, ladies! **_

She should get to bed, she knows. She's bid goodnight to Killian already, leaving the remains of their dinner together to be cleaned up tomorrow. He had been right—it had felt amazing to be able to eat real food, bread and salted fish and, God, real wine, after so many weeks of surviving on nuts and berries and whatever they managed to catch. It was strange, she thought now, what she considered to be luxury in this world. The meal she and Killian had shared was meager enough for the servants at Downton to turn their nose up at it—Mary smiles as she imagines Carson's reaction to such a feast—but being in the Enchanted Forest has changed her, has taught her not to take a single thing for granted—especially him.

She smiles, her lips still tingling from the soft kiss they shared before she left him, the wine on their lips mixed with the taste of him. Her eyes are growing heavy with tiredness, but she lingers on the deck a moment, watching the rolling waves below and the dark clouds coming in quickly over the horizon.

A storm is brewing, but Killian had told her that there was nothing to fear, that he and the Jolly Roger had weathered far worse in the past. He had not steered Mary wrong so far, so she was inclined to believe him. If Killian told her that they would be safe, then safe they would be. She has no reason to fear.

Until she turns the corner on the way back to her small cabin just as lightning illuminates the darkened sky above her, and sees Rumpelstiltskin before her eyes.

Mary's scream tears from her throat almost before she knows she has opened her mouth. He leers at her, sitting cross-legged on a barrel beneath the mainsail as if waiting for her. She staggers backwards, one hand covering her mouth, wanting to cry out for Killian, but she cannot form the words. Her breathing has gone ragged, her eyes as wide as saucers. She wants to run, every fiber of her being is _screaming_ at her to run, because he's here and she's alone and unprotected and _oh God, this is where he killed Milah,_ right here on this deck, and here she is, so breakable and vulnerable alone here with him and her heart is unprotected and so is Killian's and if the Dark One gets to him he'll—

"Evening, dearie! I do hope you're still planning on keeping your end of our deal," he purrs, as if she has not just screamed so loudly that Killian _must_ be on his way by now, he has to be...

But if Killian is on his way, then they'll both be prime targets for the Dark One's wrath. _God, Killian, please just this once, stay where you are…_

She needs his help, wants it more than anything, but she cannot ask for it. Helpless, paralyzed by fear, she nods. "Yes…" she whispers before trying to raise her voice. "We…" All that comes out is a weak whisper, and as the Dark One chuckles in that way that chills the blood in her veins, Mary finds herself wondering if it is his magic or her panic that is keeping her from calling out for help.

"Ah-ah-ah, dearie, not so loud. The pirate doesn't need to know I was ever here, does he?"

"I think my scream might have already alerted him," Mary hisses, proud that she can still offer up a comeback, weak as it is, in the face of her fear. "Of course I'm still going to keep my end of the bargain. You've made it quite clear that I have no choice in the matter. We're on our way to find the magic beans right now. Killian—I mean, the Captain has an idea of where they might be. You just have to give us a little more time."

Something flashes in Rumpelstiltskin's eyes, and Mary feels sick. "I _have_ to, do I? And are you giving the orders now, missie?"

"No, that's not what I—"

"And now you want _more time?_ I have already given you _far_ more time than you deserve!"

"Please, I—"

"Shall I give you a taste of what your pirate might face if you fail me, hmm? Since threatening him seems to be the only way to send you a message these days!"

In one swift movement he leaps from his perch, crosses the deck to her, and plunges his hand into Mary's chest.

All of the air rushes from Mary's lungs. Pain like she has never experienced before sears through her, starting at her heart and radiating outwards, making her stagger forward, but Rumpelstiltskin's grip on her keeps her from sinking to her knees. With one sharp tug, he frees his hand from her chest entirely, taking her heart along with it. Mary stares at it, still gasping in pain, tears streaking down her face as she watches her heart literally beat in someone else's hand. It is a deep red, glowing slightly as it pulses between his fingers. The pain seems to fade as she stands there, studying it, a chilling numbness overtaking her until she feels nothing at all. She is hollow, empty, heartless. All the times in her life she's told people she had no heart, had wished it were true so she didn't have to feel so much…her terrible wish has finally come true. She is the heartless Mary Crawley, and she can no longer feel anything.

Until he squeezes her heart again.

She gasps sharply, the pain back and worse than before. This is how Milah died, she knows now. This is how he killed her. This is how he will murder Killian, if she fails him. How he might, if he feels like it, kill her right now.

"Such a pretty heart," he muses, his voice like velvet and nails on a chalkboard all at once. "A bit of darkness here and there, but less than there was when we first met, I think. It would be such a shame if this heart were to fall into the…_wrong_ hands, wouldn't it?"

"Rumpelstiltskin," she wheezes. "Please…"

In the next instant she feels his hand pushing into her flesh again, replacing her heart where it belongs, although she already knows it will never beat quite the same way again. "There," he said, giving it one final squeeze before pushing Mary away from him. She clutches at her intact chest and tries to catch her breath, although something tells her that it is impossible. "You're in luck, Lady Mary. I find myself feeling rather generous today. I shall give you a little more time…but not much."

She cannot answer him.

"Tick tock dearie!" he shouts, his words echoing through the night, seeming to drown out even the rumbles of thunder overhead and the crashing of the waves against the ship.

And then he is gone.

Mary wastes no time. As soon as he vanishes, without even a puff of smoke to announce his departure (which chills her even more than his usual antics) she is moving, rushing down the steps and back into Killian's cabin, still sobbing, tripping over her own two feet, moving as fast as she can to get away from the deck just in case the Dark One changes his mind and decides that he isn't through with her just yet…

Without even bothering to knock, she bursts into the captain's quarters just as the storm breaks and the sky opens above them.

He whirls around, clearly caught off-guard by her sudden entrance. Mary freezes in the doorway for only a moment, realizing that Killian is no longer wearing a shirt. His tanned torso is clad only in the series of braces that keep his hook attached to his wrist, and she can see every muscle, every scar that is usually kept hidden from her. There is a particularly nasty one over his heart, and her own hand flies to her chest, wondering if she, too, has been forever marked by the Dark One in that way. Beneath her clothes she feels only smooth flesh, but she cannot shake her fears all the same.

"Love, what's the matter?" he asks as thunder roars overhead.

She chokes out a sob, feeling herself crumbling to pieces in front of him. "He was here."

Instantly his gaze hardens, ice coming back into those blue eyes of his. There is no need for Killian to ask who 'he' is—he just knows, instinctively. "What?" he demands, crossing the room to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She jerks instinctively from his touch, but he holds her still, his eyes pleading with her to talk to him. "The Dark One was here?" His eyes search hers, and she knows he's reliving Milah again as he grips her arms tightly, reassuring himself that this is real, that she's here. "Mary, what—"

"You didn't hear us?" she demands, her entire form shaking now. "You didn't hear me scream?"

"I didn't hear anything, love! If I had, do you think I would have left you to face him on your own? He bewitched me, enchanted the ship, something. He didn't want me to be able to get to you. He didn't want me to know he was ever here. Damn it, love, I'm so sorry…"

"He was here," she sobs again and again, collapsing against his chest. He doesn't even hesitate before his arms wrap around her, bringing her against him and cradling her there, softly shushing her as he strokes her dark hair. "He was here. I saw him!"

"I know you did, love. I believe you. I promise."

"He had my heart!"

Killian freezes. Her head is pressed against his chest, and she swears that she hears its gentle rhythm slow down for a moment as he stiffens in her embrace. She clings to him, suddenly afraid that he will pull away, that the moment his touch leaves her she will remember how it felt to stand there with her heart beating in Rumpelstiltskin's hand. "He…he what?" Killian asks. His voice is ragged, and Mary hates herself for knowingly dragging up these demons from his past, but the damage has been done.

"He ripped my heart from my chest. He stood with it there in his hand. And then he put it back," she whispers, her voice muffled by leather and flesh. _Because he wanted to teach me a lesson. Because it's what he'll do to you if I don't find those magic beans, and probably to me as well. Because he knows I can't lose you._

"That explains it then." His voice thrums against her ear, sounding detached.

"Explains what?"

"A moment ago, before you came in…I felt…I felt a pain. In my heart." He doesn't say more, only holds her tighter, his mind suddenly frantic about what this might mean. When he had seen Milah's heart taken before his eyes, he had felt a pang in his own chest…but nothing compared to the way he had felt when Mary's heart was threatened.

"I should have known," he hisses, cursing himself. He tries to release his hold on Mary, but she clings to him, wrapping one hand underneath the straps of his brace to keep him tethered to her. "I should have come to find you the moment I…damn it, Mary, I'm sorry." His voice is dangerous now, and Mary knows he's hating himself for not being able to come to her aid. It's the same way she hates herself, every day, for dragging him down into this with her, for willfully endangering the man she—

"What can I do?"

"Just stay here," Mary whispers desperately. "Please, just stay with me, don't leave me again…" Her heart is hammering wildly against her ribs, the beat different now, altered from the Dark One's touch, and she wonders if Killian's also beat the same after he had it ripped from him. "Please, just stay…"

His only response is to wrap his arms around her tighter, relaxing his head into the crook of her neck and breathing her in deeply, trying to reassure himself that she truly is all right. "I'm sorry," he tells her again and again, his voice muffled and sounding almost choked up. "I'm so sorry…"

Mary can't help but wonder if his words are meant for her, or for the woman he couldn't save so long ago aboard this same ship.

_What have I done?_

They stay like that until her tears subside, until her pounding heart has settled down somewhat. Killian's skin seems to be searing beneath her touch, but then he's always warm, so warm that on cold nights in the forest she often leaves her own makeshift bed in favor of his arms. She leans up to find that his blue eyes are watching her, so full of emotion it almost takes her breath away once again.

"Mary."

That's all it takes. All it takes before their lips meet in a kiss that is full of apologies and forgiveness, of hope and darkness and regret and things they cannot name. Her hands tangle in his dark hair as her mouth opens beneath his touch, pulling him closer, ever closer, and yet still not close enough. She kisses him as if the world is ending, because in so many ways, it is, or at least it will be. The way she sees it, her adventures with Killian Jones will only end one of two ways: either she will fail, and one or both of them will die. Or else she will succeed, and be forced to return home to Downton, and be lost to them forever.

It isn't fair, none of it is. It can't be how their story ends. But it's the way it has to be. Each second that bring them closer to the magic beans is one second closer to separation, and all Mary wants to do is stop time.

Maybe together, they can manage to stop it for a little while longer.

He lets out a soft noise against her mouth, and it seems to travel straight through her as she deepens the kiss. His hands are running through her hair, which has fallen from its braid and now hangs freely down her back. Mary feels as if her skin as been set alight, and yet she doesn't pull away until her lungs scream for air. She gives her body what it needs and then dives back down again, lost in the waves of his kisses as waves batter the _Jolly Roger._

"I couldn't feel," she gasps, their kisses becoming more and more desperate and consuming. Her fingers wander his bare back, over the brace and down to the flesh below. They traverse the map of scars across his body, long, thin ones that must come from a whip and others that she cannot name, souvenirs from his piracy days that will stay with him his entire life. His grip on her tightens in response, his teeth sinking gently into her bottom lip until she cries out softly. The curve of his hook rests against her hip, and Mary feels as if something has finally fallen into place. She has spent so much time pushing him away, trying to keep them both safe by distancing herself from him. It is what she knows how to do, what she is good at—driving people off one by one until she's left alone, where she cannot get hurt except on her own terms. But Killian…she has let him see her at her most vulnerable point. She has tried pushing him away, and she cannot do it anymore. She only wants to pull him closer.

"I couldn't feel anything. I never want to feel that way again. Killian, I need you…please…" Her lips have left his by now, traveling down his stubbled jaw to his exposed collarbone. She has never felt like this before, not with Matthew and certainly not with Pamuk, and she wonders if it has anything to do with the terrifying encounter she's just had. Her lips taste salt and sweat on his skin, and he grips her as if she's the only thing holding him together. "Mary," he whispers, his voice ragged once again but for a wildly different reason now. "Love…are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Suddenly a change seems to come over Killian. His face lights up with something Mary can only describe as hope as he captures her lips in a searing kiss. Her hands leave his shoulders and travel to the laces of her bodice, fumbling with the knots, cursing softly. At Downton Abbey she'd had Anna to help her, but her corsets had never seemed _this_ complicated.

"Let me," his voice sends tingles across her skin as he grazes his teeth along her earlobe. Her legs are trembling as he kisses her neck and runs his hook along the laces of her bodice, finding the knot easily. A single tug with the hook and it comes undone, allowing Mary to unlace it on her own. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment at her ineptness, but her desire for him is more overwhelming. Suddenly she feels as inexperienced as she had the night the Turkish diplomat knocked on her bedroom door, but she pushes her doubts away. This is not Pamuk, who was selfish and took advantage of her. This is not Matthew, as inexperienced as she but still blind to her biggest mistake, her deepest secret. This is _Killian, _her Killian. And she has nothing to fear.

Her bodice falls forgotten to the floor, leaving her in her skirt and a chemise that suddenly feels paper-thin. She presses herself against him, reaching for the strap of his brace, but his hand catches hold of her wrist and holds her still. "Not yet,love," he pleads. "I'm not…I'm not ready for you to see that yet. Here." He kisses her forehead and releases his grip on her hand, reaching for his hook. A few turns and a click and it falls to the floor, leaving only the cuff behind on his wrist. Apparently, there are some scars he's still not ready for her to see.

They do not speak the words out loud, because the night is dark and the storm is wild and there's no telling who might be listening. Fingers trace over scars both real and unreal, breathing quickens, the past comes back to haunt and is sent away again. One by one, their clothes are discarded, until there is nothing separating them. Killian lifts her into his arms as if she weighs nothing at all, carrying her to the bed and laying her on sheets that, although modest, feel more luxurious to her than all the fine linens of the world. This is his home, and he's using it to send her back to her home. She forgets how to breathe as he braces himself over her, kissing down her body, worshiping every inch of her the way she's always dreamed someone would. He takes his time, lips skating over her collarbone and breasts, mapping out her body in case he never gets another chance to—even though in Mary's mind, she has already decided that this will not just be a one-time thing if she can help it. He kisses her reverently, using lips and teeth and tongue to bring her teetering to the edge and back, murmuring to her that she is beautiful, perfect, a bloody siren (And Mary has to admit this might be the endearment she likes the best). He kisses her until she has forgotten everything else but him and her and the ship, until the heart that is once again in her chest beats only for him.

His lips find hers again, scruff burning her cheeks in the most wonderful way, before pulling away to look at her. "Mary," he says, panting for breath just as she is, blue eyes darkened with desire and longing. "I…"

She takes his face in her hands, stroking her thumbs over his skin. "I know."

And as he enters her , it is as if Mary Crawley and Killian Jones have both finally come home.


	23. Are you happy?

"Are you happy, love?"

The question slips from his lips as they lay in the small bed in the Captain's quarters one night, the sheets tangled about their legs and her cheek resting on his bare chest. She is surprised by the question for a moment, shifting her position just enough to that brown eyes can meet blue, still slightly darkened from desire after their activities together. Her hand dances across his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart, tracing scars she could probably draw from memory now.

It is a complicated question, perhaps the most complicated he could have asked her, and yet the answer could not have been more simple. "Yes."

"Yes?" He seems surprised.

She takes his hand in hers, laces their fingers together. "Yes," she repeats. "I won't say that it isn't dangerous—we've faced more dangers together than most people face in a lifetime. And I don't know what sort of trials are coming for us. But with you, Killian, I'm happier than I've been in a very long time. The war taught me something, you know…taught me to cherish every day, because we might not get another. And that's what I'm doing with you. I'm going to cherish every minute I can with you. And that—no matter what might go along with it—that makes me happy."

His lips find hers in the dimness, a soft, sweet kiss that makes her sigh contentedly. "I'm glad," he whispers against her skin. "Because Mary…you've given me back a life I thought I'd lost. You've turned me back into a person I thought I'd never see again. And I am so, so grateful for that. I'm sorry I've gotten you into such trouble—"

"As I recall, I'm the one who got _you_ into this mess. You remind me of it often enough." She nips at his bottom lip playfully, and he arches into her.

"All I mean is, I'm going to look after you, Mary. No matter what happens. I…I love you, Mary."

"I love you too."

They fall asleep, entwined in each other's arms, a few moments later.


	24. You Don't Have to Stay

He finds her sitting near the bow of the ship as the sun is just starting it's descent in the sky. Her mirror is held in her lap, a sight that surprises him after so many days of seeing her without it, and as he comes closer he notices that there are tears in her eyes. Concern fills him immediately as he settles himself beside her. "What's the matter, love?"

She seems somewhat startled to be caught in such a state, jumping a little at his presence and hurrying to wipe her eyes. "Oh," she whispers, more to herself than him. "I…I just wanted to check in…"

"Has something happened?"

She looks miserable, almost guilty, but somehow detached at the same time. "It's the flu…Spanish flu, from what I was able to overhear." The words mean nothing to him, but he says nothing as he lets her contunue. "My mother contracted it, and Lavinia, and…I'm afraid Lavinia has died."

It takes him a moment to remember who Lavinia is, trying to recall the conversation they'd had of this mysterious—to him, anyway—illness striking her home. "I'm sorry, love," he says softly, running his hand down her back. "Were the two of you close?"

She shakes her head. "Not really," she admits. "I think we were only friends because of Matthew, to be honest. But I do feel terrible for not being there for her…for any of them."

"You mustn't blame yourself, love," he's quick to say. Killian Jones knows a thing or two about blaming yourself for the death of loved ones, and the last thing he wants is to witness Mary travel down that slippery slope. "It probably would have happened with or without you there—"

"Oh, I know that," she said immediately, trying to calm his worries. "It's just…I suppose it's difficult to imagine life going on without me like this. I wish so terribly that I could be there for the others and Matthew, but at the same time…I can't help but wonder if it's better that I'm not there. I can let him grieve her in peace."

"Mary…" Killian sighs, wrapping his good arm around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, warm and sweet-smelling from the sun. "I don't know this Matthew of yours, but something tells me he's been mourning your loss much longer than he will hers."

She doesn't say anything for a moment, and he releases his grip on her long enough to reach into his coat and pull out his flask. He holds it aloft towards the light of the setting sun, a silent salute to a woman he did not know and never will. "To Lavinia." He takes a pull from the flask and hands it off to her.

"To Lavinia," Mary echoes, taking her own sip in tribute. She hands the rum back to him and settles back into his embrace. "You don't have to stay here with me, you know. I don't mind."

He smiles against her temple, breathing in the scent of her. He knows that every day they get closer to Regina's castle is one day closer to potentially having to say goodbye, and he doesn't want to miss a moment with Mary until then. "I'm not going anywhere, love."


	25. Insatiable

Once they start, it is like a flame that cannot be extinguished—not that either of them would ever want to.

If Rumpelstiltskin had intended to drive a wedge between them by threatening Killian's life, he had only succeeded in bringing them closer together. It surprises both of them, Killian thinks, how they can never quite get enough of each other. She is the biggest temptation he has ever had to face, a temptation that he can't help giving into time and time again. And as for Killian himself…Mary is quickly discovering that she has never wanted anything in her life as much as she wants him every second of every day. They come together time and time again, unable to stop now that every single barrier between them has finally been broken.

Sometimes it is desperate and quick, up against the mast of the Jolly Roger or the door to his cabin, greedy and reckless as both of them realize how little time they hav left to spend together. These times arere reigned by clashing teeth, fumbling hands, bruises littered across skin flushed with desire, kisses to end the world on, her name on his lips like a battle cry. _Mary, Mary, Mary…_

Other times it is slower, tender, both of them trying to make the moments count by drawing them out as much as they possibly can. Tucked safely away from the world in his cabin, they discover and re-discover each other, two lost souls finding each other over and over again in the dark of the Jolly Roger. Their lips map out each others' bodies, etching them into memories forever. There are gasps and cries and laughter and sometimes tears, in these tender moments between them, each one more beautiful than the last. These times are filled with names breathed softly, against lips and collarbones and hips, claiming each other now and forever. Names spoken in a reverent whisper over and over again, like a prayer in the dark…_Mary. Mary. Mary._

_Killian._

They spend time learning each other's hearts as well as their bodies, between these sessions of frenzied lovemaking. She tells him of the night the Turkish ambassador broke into her bedroom, how she was too naïve and scared and curious to send him away—the story makes Killian's blood boil and leaves him feeling _very_ grateful that the bastard got the ending he deserved not soon after—and he tells her more of his lonely life on Neverland, of wasted years spent with nothing but vengeance on his mind. They talk of the monotony of her life at Downton, his early days in the navy…even the formerly forbidden topics of Matthew and Milah are allowed to be brought to light. They speak of the future as well, in hushed whispers late at night huddled under the quilt in his cabin, but neither of them allow each other to dwell on it for too long. Before either of them can sink into despair and doubt once more, the other will reach for them, banishing their worries just for a little while longer—two broken souls healing each other as the ocean's waves crest around them…carrying them ever closer to Regina's castle.


	26. It Just Breaks My Heart

"Stop looking at me like that." Her voice startles him, carrying over from where she stands at the bow of the Jolly Roger, resting her arms on the railing as she looks out to sea. He flinches like a child who has just gotten caught stealing sweets, but she doesn't turn around.

"I wasn't—"

"I can _feel_ you looking at me." She finally faces him then, the faintest hint of a smile quirking her lips but her eyes look solemn. "And it's breaking my heart."

"Just how am I breaking your heart, love?" There is a slight hitch in his voice that he hopes she doesn't catch.

But she does, of course—she always does. For all that she's told him of her past as the cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley, the two of them are so in tune to each other's emotions right now that he wouldn't be surprised if he can read his mind.

"By looking at me like you're never going to see me again."

And there it is. Killian's own heart seems to clench in his chest, the weight of grief and pain threatening to send him plummeting to the depths of the ocean below. He crosses to her, his brow furrowing as she turns away, her eyes trained on the horizon. "I know we're getting closer," she says quietly, "I know that sooner or later we're going to have to face all of this—Regina, the Dark One, everything. But I can't have you looking at me like that."

He wraps his arms around her waist, standing behind her as the gentle sea breeze tickles their faces. His head drops into the crook of her neck, closing his eyes as he breathes in deeply, memorizing the scent of her, the feel of his arms around her. She leans into him, a soft sigh escaping her mouth as he whispers against her neck. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever happens, we face it together, right?"

"Aye, love."

"Good. I don't want to see you looking at me like that again. Not yet, anyway."

"And how shall I look at you?"

"Like everything's going to be all right, even if it isn't. Like you love me."

He grins against her skin, kissing her neck. "That, I think I can do."


	27. What the Future May Hold

The days are slipping away too quickly.

Each day, each passing hour brings them one step closer to land, to Regina's castle, to a quest with an uncertain outcome. One day closer to having to face the Evil Queen again, one day closer to what might be their last hope of finding the magic beans—and sending Mary back to a home that no longer feels like hers. She's changed so much in these—weeks? Months? She's not even sure how much time has passed any longer—in the Enchanted Forest that part of her, the part of her heart that is now forever entwined with Killian's, wants to stay. But the part of her that she knows she should listen to remains stubbornly rational, reminding her that she cannot stay, no matter how much she wants to. She doesn't belong here—with Killian, perhaps, but she does not belong in this realm. And in order to protect Killian from the Dark One's wrath, Mary must return to her own realm, and take Rumpelstiltskin with her. That is the bargain she made, and that is the promise she must keep—both to Rumpelstiltskin and to herself.

Mary isn't sure what she wants anymore, other than to keep Killian safe—and to keep time from slipping from her fingertips like so many grains of sand.

As the days pass, both of them begin silently preparing for what is to come. Afternoons are spent with him teaching her to handle a sword—her younger self, who had been so jealous watching Patrick at work at his fencing lessons, would be overjoyed—so that she can defend herself against the Queen's guards when the time comes if need be. It doesn't surprise either of them that she is a fast learner, and Killian is a good teacher—patient and understanding, but not about to go easy on her either. As they practice, their swords clashing on the deck and the sun bouncing off the waves below, it's almost easy to forget what is waiting for them on the shore.

"Move your feet!" he calls out to her, flashing a cheeky grin. "Look alive, lass!"

She lunges forward, but he dances out of her way and taps her with the flat of his blade before she even has time to react. "Got you," he says, his tone triumphant despite the grave look in his eyes. "Best two out of three?"

"You have the distinct advantage of 300 years of training over me. It's hardly a fair fight," Mary mumbles.

"You're smaller and lighter on your feet than I am—and smaller than the Queen's men will be. Use that to your advantage."

"How?" she asks, brushing her hair, damp with sweat and sea foam, out of her eyes with a wry sort of smile.

He grins down at her, tightening his grip on his blade as he prepares for attack again. "Use your imagination."

She narrows brown eyes at him, tightening her grip on the sword that had seemed so clumsy and cumbersome to her at first but now, through practice and a great deal of stubbornness on her part, is becoming more and more comfortable to use by the day. She remembers clearly the day he first suggested these swordplay lessons, wanting her to be able to defend herself when the time came. "I don't want one of us to be at a disadvantage," he'd said to her, his hand running down her back. "I want us to be equals in this. This is your fight as well as mine, and I want us both to be able to see that though. And—" he'd swallowed there, and Mary's breath had caught. "In case I can't protect you, I want to make sure that you can look after yourself."

"And if I turn out to be the one saving you?"

He'd grinned, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. "I wouldn't say no to that, Mary."

"Ready?" he says to her now, startling her from her thoughts.

"Ready," Mary replies confidently, smiling at him in the blinding sun. "Do your worst, pirate."

He raises an eyebrow in response.

Neither of them knows what awaits them once the Jolly Roger makes port. But one thing that they are sure of is that whatever comes, they will face it together.


End file.
